Twist of Fate
by O.C.Annie
Summary: AU Season One, In The Pilot Kirsten asks Sandy, What if this is all a scam? What if he’s just using you to case the house?” In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice.
1. Chapter 1

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter-very strong language, abuse, Ryan Angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _ In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter One**

Ryan stood outside the walls of the California Juvenile Detention Center. He had just been released after attempting to steal a car. His lawyer, Sandy Cohen, stood next to him while he waited for his ride.

"My office will contact you to remind you the date for your hearing."

"I'll remember."

An old pickup truck flew into the parking lot, jumping the curb as it came to a screeching halt. A very large, very angry looking man climbed out. He grabbed Ryan by the shoulders shaking him as he started shouting.

"What the hell is wrong with you? How could you be so damn stupid? Get your ass in this truck!" He gave the boy a hard shove, causing him to stumble into the truck door. Ryan glanced nervously at Sandy, clearly embarrassed that he had to witness the scene.

Sandy eyed the man with a certain amount of confusion and caution. He was almost certain the kid's file listed his father as still in prison.

"Mr. Atwood?" At the sound of his voice the man shifted his attention to Sandy. It was obvious that he hadn't noticed the other man standing there.

"Fuck, no. I'm Art Sykes, his stepfather, and if there is one thing in this life I'm grateful for is that this worthless little bastard isn't mine. I just got stuck with him after his whore-mother up and died on me. I don't know what I was thinking marrying that bitch."

"Mr. Sykes," Sandy corrected himself and held out his hand. "I'm Sandy Cohen, Ryan's attorney."

He ignored the offer of a handshake. "You better be free, mister. Because you're even stupider than him, if you think I am going to pay one dime to keep him out of prison. He can rot in there for all I care."

Ryan stood leaning against the door frame, head down, and seemingly immune to this verbal onslaught. The only sign that he was even aware of what was going on was to flinch when Art turned his attention back to him.

"You're going to have enough to pay for when I get you back home. Do not make me repeat myself again. I said, get your ass in the truck, _now_!"

He opened the door and shoved Ryan into the passenger seat. Sandy fumbled in his suit jacket looking for his card and a pen. He scribbled his home number before handing the card to Ryan.

"I'm going to give you my card. My home number, you know, if you need something, if things get to be too much, call me."

The only acknowledgment he gave was to wordlessly take the card. He looked at it for a moment before slowly turning the card over and over, flipping it through his fingers. Sandy jumped back as the truck roared to life. Art shifted gears and went barreling out of the parking lot.

As he watched Ryan drive off with his stepfather, Sandy couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't let the boy go with him. However, he saw no other choice; the man was obviously the only relative the kid had who wasn't in jail. Sandy ran his hands through his shaggy dark hair and sighed. Suddenly, it seemed like it had been a very long day. After witnessing a horrific glimpse into the life of a boy his son's age, he wanted nothing more than to go home and spend time with his own family.

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Ryan winced in pain as Art slammed him up against the wall. He held him there, pressing his fist into the boy's chest.

"You stupid, worthless, little piece of shit."

Each insult was emphasized with a stinging slap to the face.

"I give you one little job to do and you manage to screw it up. I've had people scope that car out for a week. The only thing you had to do was hot-wire the damn thing. But, oh no, that was too hard for a dumbass like you. You didn't even have the brains to check and see if there were any cops around."

"I...I'm sorry. I tried," Ryan began stuttering an apology before being cut off by Art's vicious backhand.

"Shut your mouth. I don't want to hear any more excuses out of you. Look at what all I do for you-I clothe you, I feed you, and this is how you repay my generosity. If it wasn't for me, you'd be living on the streets and eating out of garbage cans just to survive. No one else would put up with a good-for-nothing brat like you. Even your own mother decided overdosing on coke was better than taking care of you."

Ryan wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Art. He had heard enough. In fact, he had heard these exact same words every day of his life for the past three years, ever since his mother had died. He knew that he was stupid, lazy, worthless, and nothing more than a charity case. He wasn't in the mood to hear it again. Living with Art was no picnic, but Juvie had scared him . . . a lot. Before last night, he had always thought that in addition to Art, heights were his greatest fear. He had been wrong. He had never felt anything like being locked up before-the closeness, the staleness in the air, the sensation of being trapped. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to go outside, away from the confines of the house and Art's insults. He needed to clear his head and try forget about that tiny little prison cell.

He made a move for the door. Art immediately grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Where the hell do you think you're going? I didn't give you permission to leave."

"I get it, okay? You don't need to keep pounding it in my head. I know that I am nothing but a burden to you, a waste of time and space. Hell, I'm probably a burden to the whole world, because all I do is use up the supply of oxygen. Happy? Can I go now?"

Another slap to the mouth and two sharp blows to his ribs was the answer. He fell to his knees, gasping for air. One arm cradled his throbbing ribs while the other barely managed to hold him up. Art crouched down and grabbed a fist full of hair. Yanking him to his knees, he forced Ryan to look him in the eye.

"How can I ever be happy as long as I'm stuck with you? You're right about one thing though. You are a burden to me. But you know what really gets me? It's the fact that you didn't have to be. I have done so much for you-taught you so much. Thanks to me you can pick a pocket with the best of them. You can slice through a woman's purse straps so smoothly you're five blocks away, before she even knows it's gone. I even gave you the skill of being able to bypass a car alarm and have the motor purring all within five minutes. I did all of this for you, so that you would feel like you are contributing, to give you some self-worth. But you just disappoint me time and time again. You _are _nothing."

With a final jerk of Ryan's head he released his hair, causing the boy to fall backwards.

Ryan scooted himself into the nearest corner. After three years of living in hell, he knew Art was far from done with him.

"What do you have in your hand?"

Ryan didn't realize he was still holding the business card his lawyer had given him earlier that day. He paused a moment to look at it.

"Damn it, boy. I'm getting really tired of repeating myself." He raised his hand to strike Ryan again.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He held the card up in his shaking hand, hating the pleading tone of his voice.

Art made a move as if to deliver the blow. Ryan flinched back. "Getting a little jumpy aren't you, boy?" Art said, and laughed as he reached down to take the card.

"Isn't this better? Things go so much more smoothly when you just do what I tell you." Art studied the card carefully. "He said this was his home phone. This is a Newport number. I didn't think lawyers like him made that kind of money."

An evil grin slowly began to form. "Well, well, well . . . what do you know? You might have accidentally done something right for once in your pathetic life. If Mr. Bleeding-Heart wants to help you, I say we let him."

"What are you talking about?" Ryan didn't like the look on Art's face. Ryan began to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A look like that could only mean Art was thinking up another scheme, one that would only bring trouble for him.

"You are going to call this guy, and tell him we got into an argument over you being stupid enough to get arrested. You took off and need a place to stay until things cool down. You make sure that it all sounds like it's your fault and you decided to take off. I don't need social services butting their noses in around here. Once you get to his place, you start paying really close attention to everything. You need to find out what kind of security system they have, and the layout of the house. Try to find out their habits, when they go to work and what they do in the evening. You'll come back here and fill me in on the details. Then one night when they're gone we'll pay them a little visit, and relieve them of some of their stuff. You understanding me, boy? You're not too stupid to figure out what I'm telling you, are you?"

"No."

"Good. Then get up and make the call." He handed the card back to Ryan.

"I mean, no, I'm not going to do it."

"Excuse me? Did I hear you right? Did you just tell me no? You know better than that, right?" There was no mistaking the veiled threat.

Ryan held firm. "No, Art. I'm serious. I'm not going to do it. Shoplifting, stealing wallets and purses, even hot wiring a car, I'll do any of those that you tell me to do, but I'm not going to break into someone's house. I won't do it. What if I get caught? The guy's a lawyer. He probably has a ton of friends that are cops or worse, judges. Forget it. I'm not going to prison for one of your schemes. It's not worth it. _You_ aren't worth it." Ryan tried to rise, but was brought down by a vicious kick to his side.

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," Art sighed and shook his head. "You are never going to learn, are you? I own you, and you _will_ do exactly what I tell you to do. As for as me not being able to make you, we'll just see about that. I believe he said to call if things got to be too much. Well now, things are just about to get too much for you."

Ryan pushed himself farther into the corner. He glanced around the room, looking for an escape route. It was no use; Art blocked the way. He was trapped. His eyes widened in fear as he watched Art remove his belt. He slowly wrapped it around his hand, leaving a three foot strap that ended in a large silver buckle.

Art was true to his word. His arm was just beginning to get tired when Ryan slipped into unconsciousness.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- strong language, minor violence, Ryan Angst

**Beta: loracj2**

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Two**

"Get up! It's time for you to stop being so fucking worthless and finally start earning your keep." Art shoved Ryan with his foot rolling the boy onto his backsideHe cried out in pain as the bruises and open sores, courtesy of Art's belt, contacted with the hard floor. He tried pushing himself up on his elbows, but Art already had a hold of his arm, yanking him to his feet. Disoriented from the severity of his most recent beating, Ryan was only vaguely aware of Art dragging him toward the front door.

He grabbed Ryan's grey hoodie and leather jacket and shoved them into his arms, causing the boy to stumble out the door. Ryan grabbed a hold of the step's railing to stop from falling. He shook his head trying to remember exactly what he had done to deserve Art's fury this time.

"What the hell are you waiting around for? It's getting late. Get your lazy ass in gear and go make that phone call."

It came back to Ryan in bits and pieces – getting arrested, Juvie, a lawyer with a business card, Art's latest scheme, his refusal, a belt buckle catching the light as it bit into his skin again and again. He shivered as the memories fell into place. He remembered now - a phone call - he was supposed to call his lawyer and ask for a place to stay. He shook his head again; he knew he was still mixed-up, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out how he was to make this call when he was outside. He took a hesitant step back toward the house. Art gave him another hard push and he stumbled down the steps again.

"Damn, but if you don't get stupider every day. You can't even follow the simplest order. I swear I don't know what I'm going to do with you. Maybe I'm too soft on you. Maybe I need to start disciplining you more."

Ryan swallowed, trying to choke back the paralyzing fear that Art could make his life worse. "No…no, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so dumb. I just don't understand."

Art cupped Ryan's face in his hands, squeezing as hard as he could. "Exactly what don't you understand? Go – make - the - damn – call." He jerked Ryan's head back.

"I understand that, honest. But the phone…" He pointed to the house desperately.

"See, this is how you don't appreciate anything I do for you. I'm trying to help you. We both know that you can't lie worth a shit. If you called from the comfort of my home, you might not sound pathetic enough for this guy to feel sorry for you. This way, if you call from the streets, everything will sound real authentic. Now, get going."

Ryan turned and started walking down the steps. "Gee, thanks. You're all heart," he muttered under his breath. Art heard the comment and kicked him squarely in the back. Ryan fell down the remaining three steps, landing on all fours on the concrete sidewalk.

"You just never learn," Art said as he went into the house, slamming the door behind him.

Ryan picked himself off the ground, wiping the loose bits of gravel from his hand. His jeans were torn, and now on top of everything else his hands and knees were bleeding. He limped by his bike, propped against the old rusty chain-link fence, leaving it behind. He knew from past experiences it would be several days before he could comfortably ride again. Thus, on foot he began his search for one of the last remaining payphones in Chino.

It took him an hour to find one that had not been vandalized and another thirty minutes to work up the courage to pick up the receiver. Even then, he still had no idea of what to say to the man he had known for less than twenty-four hours. In the end, he decided the best option was to stick to as much of the truth as he could. That way, if too many questions were asked, it would be harder to get caught in the lie. He studied the card, committing the number to memory, and dialed the number.

"Mr. Cohen? Um, this is Ryan Atwood, from earlier today? I'm the one who stole the car. You said to give you a call if I needed anything. Well...I got into a fight with my stepdad, I said some stuff I shouldn't have, and then I took off. I just need a place to stay for a couple of nights…until things blow over, I mean, until I cool down. Can you...do you…do you think you could help me out?**"**

He held his breath waiting for a response. He had done his best to do what Art said, and make the fight sound like his fault. There was still no answer on the other end. Maybe, the lawyer was going to say no. Perhaps he hadn't sounded desperate enough. It was a lot to ask; Ryan knew that. Art reminded him every day how much trouble he was. Still, he had asked only to stay for the weekend. That couldn't be too much of a bother, could it? He wracked his brain, trying to come up with something else to say, so that Mr. Cohen would take pity on him. He hated this. He was tired of being nothing more than a charity case.

He should hang up the phone and take off. Turn around and keep walking, leaving all of this behind him, but he didn't. He had tried that once. A couple months after his mom had died, he tried to run away. He had made it as far as the highway before the cops picked him up and took him back to Art. The punishment for running away was something Ryan didn't want to experience again.

He was certain it was hopeless; no one in their right mind would let a kid like him stay with them. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he heard Mr. Cohen's voice asking him where to meet him. He thanked his lawyer and gave him the address. Ryan was surprised that his nervousness only increased with the offer of a place to stay. He hadn't known what he would do if the guy had said no, but he was just as clueless as to what to do now that he had said yes. He had a whole new set of problems. He didn't know anything about home security systems or robbing houses.

One thing that kept eating away at him was how wrong this felt. He was going to know these people, spend time with them. Not knowing his marks made it easier. They were nameless, faceless, non-persons. The wallets and purses he stole never had much cash in them, and the people wouldn't be held liable for all the credit card debt Art managed to accumulate before the card could be canceled. Even the cars were covered by insurance. Ryan tried to justify that what he stole wouldn't really be missed. People could afford to lose what little he took from them. A few bucks here or there wouldn't make anyone's life worse, except for his own.

But still, these people were willing to help him, and he was going to repay them by ripping them off. The helping him part had him questioning their motives. Why would they want to help them? What was in it for them? In Ryan's experience, no one ever did something nice for you unless they wanted something in return. This guy must be getting something out of the deal too. Ryan wracked his brain for what that could possibly be.

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"I'll be right there, kid." Sandy hung up the phone and turned to his wife. "Honey, I need to go back out for a while. Can you hold up on ordering dinner for about an hour, and order a little extra too? We're going to have a guest."

"Wait a minute, Sandy. What have you done?"

"It's a kid I met today. He's in trouble and needs a place to stay. It will just be for the weekend. I promise."

"You mean you told one of your clients he could stay here? In our home? Don't you think you should have discussed it with me first? I don't even know what this kid did to break the law."

"Now, honey, it wasn't anything too serious. He got caught trying to steal a car."

"You don't think that's serious? How much more serious of a crime do you need? What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?"

"Ryan's not a criminal mastermind. He's a scared kid, with no on to turn to and nowhere to go."

"I'm not saying you can't sympathize with him, or even feel sorry for him, but he is not our responsibility. You still met him in prison and he still broke the law; like it or not, he is a criminal. What kind of influence is he going to be on our family? Did you even think of Seth?"

"Seth's the reason I want to help him. He's fifteen, honey, the same age as Seth. You weren't there this afternoon. You didn't get a look at this kid's life like I did. His mom's dead, his dad's in prison. He lives with his stepdad, and in the five minutes I was with them, he called Ryan every name in the book before literally throwing him in his truck. I was scared for him. Now he's out there all alone. Imagine Seth having to go through the same thing. Please, honey, he's just a kid."

Kirsten felt herself weakening. "Was it really that bad?"

"Worse."

"All right," she sighed. "He can stay, but just for the weekend, and he sleeps in the pool house."

"You're the best, baby." He leaned down and kissed her before heading out the door.

Seth sauntered into the kitchen seconds after his father had left. "Hey did Dad just leave? What's he picking up to eat? I'm starving."

"Sit down, sweetie. We need to talk about something."

"If this is about the vase, I can explain."

"What? Which vase?" She looked at him sharply before remembering there were more important issues at hand. "Never mind about that now. Your Dad is bringing home one of his clients to stay for the weekend."

"Wow. When Dad brings his work home with him, he really brings his work home with him."

"Not even remotely funny, Seth. I need you to be careful around this kid. His name is Ryan. We hardly know anything about him, except how he got arrested."

"So what did he do? Knock off a liquor store? Organize a teenage gang war?"

"Honestly, Seth. No, nothing like that, he tried to steal a car."

"Really? And Dad went to pick him up in the beamer. I hope he has his cell phone with him in case this Ryan guy totally gives into temptation and car-jacks him."

"This is serious. Despite what your father thinks, I don't know if we can trust him and I don't want you spending a lot of time alone with him. He could be a bad influence on you."

"Oooooh, not a bad influence. I feel the need to give into peer pressure already. Perhaps I'll go raid the wine cabinet, get drunk, and hold up the closest Quicky Mart."

"I'm not telling you again to behave yourself, young man."

"Okay. Okay. I understand, beware of the juvenile delinquent. So you want to kill time waiting for Dad by counting the good silverware?"

"Seth!"

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Even though the sun was beginning to set Sandy didn't have any trouble spotting Ryan. The street was all but deserted except for the teen barely lurking outside the circle of the city's street light. He stood there, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets with a cigarette dangling from his lips. To the casual observer, he gave the appearance of your typical brooding teen. But the truth was at the moment, it was taking almost all of Ryan's strength just to stand upright.

Sandy pulled up beside him on the street corner, and got out of the car. "See, I told you. You could do worse."

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks." As he spoke, he moved into the light, giving Sandy his first look at his battered face.

"What happened to your face, kid?" He reached out to get a better look, but Ryan quickly stepped back just out of the man's reach.

"Nothing, I fell off my bike."

Sandy looked around curiously. "Bike? I don't see your bike. Where's it at?"

"Damn," Ryan muttered under his breath. Not five minutes and he'd already screwed up. "I left it where I crashed. It's completely wrecked."

"Really?" Sandy questioned, not believing Ryan. "Between the look of your face and ruining your bike, it must have been a pretty bad accident."

Ryan remembered his badly skinned hands and held them up for proof. "Yeah, it was."

"How'd it happen?"

"It was just a pothole. I fell because I hit a big pothole. I wasn't looking where I was going. You know, I was upset about getting kicked out, I ... I mean the fight with my stepdad and running out and all."

The memory of Ryan's stepfather flashed in Sandy's mind. "Do you fall often? Because of the potholes, I mean?"

What was it with this guy and the twenty questions? Ryan couldn't figure it out. It wasn't like he had wrecked something that belonged to him, so why did he care if Ryan said he fell off his bike and trashed it.

"You work for the road commissioner when you're not busy being a lawyer? What do you care?"

"You know, for someone who only an hour minutes ago called me up because he had nowhere else to go, you might want to reconsider the attitude."

Ryan mumbled an apology, taking another unsteady step back, once again widening the distance between them. He had pushed this guy too far already. Art was always warning him about his smart mouth. He kept his head bowed, watching Sandy through his bangs. Nervously turning the cigarette between his fingers, waiting for the blow that was sure to come.

"Forget it, kid."

Sandy motioned toward the cigarette. "I'm not going to lecture you on the hazards of smoking, and how you're too young for that particular habit, but you won't be smoking this weekend. It's not allowed. Not in my car, my house, or even the yard. Are we clear on that?"

Ryan nodded and threw the still lit cigarette into the storm drain. Sandy opened the passenger door and motioned for Ryan to get in the car. He noted how slowly the boy eased himself into the car, and the grimace that crossed his features as he eased himself down on the vehicle's soft leather interior.

Sandy couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Ryan's injuries than a simple bike accident. "I take it the fight with your stepdad was about trying to steal the car. Did he get pretty mad at you?"

With his head still bowed, he glanced sideways at Sandy and shrugged his shoulders in response. Sandy was not going to be deterred by his silence.

"So how mad was he? Mad enough to kick you out of the house?"

"I already told you, taking off was my idea, not his."

Sandy could see this line of questioning was getting him nowhere. He decided to go for a new approach. "Why did you try to steal that car anyway? You're only fifteen. You don't even have your license yet."

Ryan was getting nervous. If this guy kept asking questions, he was bound to mess up and let something slip. He didn't know how long he could get away with not answering Mr. Cohen without him getting suspicious. If nothing else, he was bound to be getting mad. Art held true to the old adage that children should be seen and not heard. But if Art asked him a direct question, he better answer if he knew what was good for him. He decided to risk it and simply shrugged his shoulders once again. He hoped that Mr. Cohen would lay off the inquisition. The welts on his back protested with each unnecessary movement he made.

Sandy sighed in frustration. Getting information out of this kid was not going to be easy. He decided it was best just to give the kid a break.

"All right, kid. I'll let it go... for now."

Ryan didn't say a word for the rest of the ride back to Newport. Sandy figured the boy was all talked out for the time being. He filled the silence by telling stories about Kirsten and Seth. If nothing else, he thought it would help the kid's nervousness if he knew something about the people he would be staying with for the next couple of days.

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- Ryan Angst

**Beta: Loracj2**

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Three**

Kirsten still couldn't believe she had agreed to let a teenage hoodlum spend the weekend in her home. She didn't know why she had been so shocked when Sandy had suggested such an idea. He had worked with kids like this for over ten years; it was a miracle he hadn't starting bringing home stray kids years ago. Sandy had a love for the underdog, and in turn, that was one of the reasons she loved him. But still, bringing this kid into their home, and exposing Seth to him was too much to ask of her. Despite his less than perfect upbringing and his daily dealings with criminals, Sandy tended to view people through rose colored glasses. She couldn't count on him to see Ryan for what he really was…a criminal. Obviously, it was going to be up to her to protect her family.

Sandy was too soft-hearted, making him an easy target. The kid was probably able to spot a sucker like him a mile away. She wondered how bad a kid had to be for his own parent, or even a step-parent, to kick him out. She couldn't imagine Seth doing anything that would cause her to turn her back on him. This Ryan had to be nothing but trouble.

She was glad she hadn't changed when she got home that evening. Her work attire would better portray the image she wanted to convey to this kid. She wanted it to be clear that just because her husband had fallen for his sob-story, she would not be so easily swayed. She had every intention of telling him that she didn't trust him, and she would be keeping a close eye on him. It's not that she didn't want her husband to be right about Ryan. But what were the odds that a car stealing juvenile delinquent from Chino would be anything more than a felon in the making?

She heard Sandy's car pull into the driveway. Smoothing down her jacket, she gave the pool house a final inspection. Everything was neat and orderly. She expected it to be in the same condition Monday morning when Ryan left. She made a mental note to tell him as much.

"So this is where you will be staying. And this is the queen of the manor herself, my wife Kirsten."

She turned to face them. Keeping her voice cool and crisp she said, "Hello, Ryan, welcome to our home." She paused, completely taken back by the teen standing in the doorway. She hadn't known exactly what to expect when Sandy said he was bringing home a car thief, but whatever she had envisioned, it was not this boy who stood in front of her looking so completely unsure of himself. She hadn't planned on him looking so vulnerable, so frightened, and well, just so _young._

Ryan took an unsteady step into the pool house. "Thank you. Thanks very much."

As he entered the light of the pool house, she let out a gasp. In the shadows of the doorway she hadn't been able to clearly see his face. It was mottled with blue and purple bruises. His left eye was black and beginning to swell. There was a nasty looking gash above his right eye, and another cut just below on his cheekbone, his lip was split and still had a tendency to bleed when he talked, and there were odd looking bruises on both sides of his jaw. She looked at Sandy. Why hadn't he mentioned that he had been hurt trying to steal the car? Didn't the detention center at least have some sort of nurse who could have looked at him? Sandy was shaking his head, silently telling her not to ask any questions right now. Kirsten felt the tug of a mother's heartstrings and her resolve faded.

"You're hurt. Sit down while I go get something for those cuts."

He looked at Sandy cautiously, as if for approval. Sandy nodded toward the bed indicating that he was to do what Kirsten asked. Once again, Sandy observed again how gingerly the boy moved and the way his face contorted with pain as he sat down.

He watched as his wife began to gently clean the wounds on the injured boy's face. The contrast in Ryan's reaction to him and now to Kirsten was startling. Since picking him up an hour ago, Ryan had made a point in staying as far away from him as he could. The entire ride home from Chino, Ryan had practically sat on the door handle to ensure that there was as much distance as possible between them. Even during the short walk from the car to the pool house, he stayed just more than an arm's length away. The boy jumped at the slightest gesture from him, but with Kirsten he was entirely different. He sat there perfectly still, allowing her to work efficiently at her task. The only movement he made was the occasional wince when she touched a particularly sore looking area. However, not once did he take his eyes off Sandy. He watched and studied the man's every action; ready to bolt at the slightest inclination.

"I think I'm done." She stepped back carefully examining his face. "We might still need to put some ice on that eye to help with the swelling." Then for the first time she noticed his torn jeans and his banged up knees. She nodded at his legs. "I didn't notice those scrapes before."

Ryan looked at her mortified. He didn't know how she planned on cleaning his knees without him taking off his pants. Kirsten couldn't help but smile when she saw his expression. "It's okay, Ryan. Don't look so scared. They don't look too bad. I'll just leave the antibiotic cream and peroxide here on the bedside table. You can clean them yourself when you get ready for bed." She started gathering up her supplies of antibiotic ointments and Band-Aids from the bed and moved them to the table.

"You didn't have to do this. I would have been okay, but thank you, thanks again."

She smiled down at him again, if nothing else, he was certainly polite. "That's all right, Ryan. Do you want to put your things away?" She realized her mistake as soon as she said it. He looked down self-consciously and started picking at the frayed strands of fabric around the holes in his jeans. The image of him standing in the doorway empty handed flashed in her mind. She had forgotten that he had brought absolutely nothing with him. "I mean, why don't you get settled before dinner? There's a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom and some other basic toiletries. If you need anything else, just let us know. Dinner will be here in about fifteen minutes. I ordered take-out. Just come in through the patio doors." She pointed in the direction of the main house.

"I don't have any money."

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

Kirsten and Sandy responded in confused unison.

"I don't have any money... for the food. You said you ordered take-out. I can't pay for anything."

The Cohens exchanged shocked looks; he actually thought they would make him pay for his dinner. Kirsten reached down to put a hand on his shoulder. This time it was her touch he shied away from. "Ryan, that's all right. We don't expect you to pay for your food while you stay with us. You're our guest. Just come in the house when you're ready to eat."

Ryan frowned in bewilderment as he watched them exit the pool house, not quite comprehending these acts of kindness. Alone for the first time, he looked around at his new surroundings. He couldn't believe the size of the place. The pool house was almost as big as his entire house…correction, Art's house. Then he began to do what he always did whenever he entered a room - he checked for all possible exits. At first he thought the only doors were the ones he had entered, but was relieved to see that one of the glass walls had another set of doors. It was always a good idea to have more than one way out of a room.

He opened and closed all the doors from the inside and the out. He studied the layout of the room, the walkways outside, and the position of the pool, trying to gauge the dimensions and distances to and from each place. He wanted to make sure he mapped out all possible escape routes for when he made Mr. Cohen mad. After all, he would be staying here for two days. He had never managed to go that long without being punished for pissing off Art.

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Kirsten watched him from the kitchen window, her brow furrowed with concern. "Why do you think he is doing that?"

"I don't know, honey. I really don't know." Sandy's voice was tired, as if trying to understand this kid in the short time he had known him had worn him out.

"What happened to him, Sandy? I gather from your reaction in the pool house, his injuries weren't from trying to steal the car and getting arrested."

"No, he was fine this afternoon. There wasn't a mark on him that I could see when he left with his stepfather."

"Are you saying you think _he_ did that to Ryan?"

"I'm not sure. It's too soon to jump to any conclusions, but I have my doubts on whether or not that guy should be anyone's guardian. I might make a few calls and pull some strings to see if I can find out anything about him. One thing is for certain, we won't be getting information out of Ryan. When I questioned him about his face, he told me he fell off his bike."

"His hands and knees were pretty badly scraped. You could blame that on a fall from a bike. But his face? Seth's had plenty of skateboard accidents, but he's never had those kinds of injuries from falling. You didn't believe him, did you?"

"Not a chance, but when I pushed him, he shut down and didn't say anything. Something or someone definitely has that kid scared."

They heard the doorbell, and a moment later Seth entered the kitchen carrying brown paper sacks with the words "Thai-Phoon" printed on them. "Dinner's here. Hey Dad, where's your client?"

"He's in the pool house. He'll be in shortly. Seth, his face is pretty banged up. Don't say anything to him about it."

"Sure, no problem. I'm probably not allowed to talk to him anyway. According to Mom, I need to be careful just breathing the same air as him. Apparently deviant behavior is contagious."

"Very funny, son. Why don't you actually do something helpful for once and set the table for your mother?"

Kirsten rang her hands nervously. "I ordered Thai. I wasn't thinking. He might not like it, or maybe he's never even had it before. Seth, put away the chop sticks and get the forks out instead. I don't want Ryan feeling self-conscious in case he doesn't know how to use them."

"Don't mention his face. Don't use the chop sticks. An hour ago you were telling me to stay clear of him because he was nothing more than a street thug, and now you're worried about hurting his feelings. What gives?"

"Please Seth, just set the table."

A soft knock on the patio doors showed a very ill-at-ease Ryan. He had taken off his leather jacket, but had left on the grey hooded sweatshirt. Kirsten almost made a comment about the warmth of the evening, but quickly decided against it. He must have his reasons for wearing it. He seemed to be self-conscious enough without her questioning him and adding to it.

"Come on in, kid. This is my son, Seth, the one I told you about on the ride home. Why don't you sit next to him?" Sandy motioned towards the empty chair. "You're just in time. The food just got here."

The boys exchanged awkward "Heys." Ryan walked to the table and pulled the chair out. Before attempting to sit down, he eyed the hard wicker chair with uncertainty. Then, once again, he seemed to brace himself before taking a seat. _Three times, _Sandy thought. _Three times tonight I have watched this kid sit down, and each time he acts like his entire backside is on fire. _

Everyone but Ryan started eating. He just sat there with his head bowed casting nervous glances at Sandy. He was still unsure if it was truly okay. With Art, he had to earn the right to eat. On a slow day, when he couldn't manage to steal enough to make Art happy, he was not allowed to eat. After all, Art said, he wasn't running some damn soup kitchen for orphaned teenage brats. Yet, these strangers had offered him a place to stay for the weekend, and now they were just going to let him eat their food, when they knew he couldn't pay for it.

Kirsten mistook his hesitation as a sign he didn't like the food. "I'm sorry, Ryan. Don't you like Thai food? I'm sure we could find you some leftovers instead."

Ryan tensed, braving another look at Sandy to see his reaction. He had been taught long ago to always be grateful for anything that you were given. Pickiness was not tolerated. "No, no, it's fine, really, Mrs. Cohen. I just didn't know what it was. I'm sure it's all really good." He still made no move to fill his plate, causing Kirsten to believe that he was still being shy. She reached over and began explaining what each dish was before giving him a healthy sized portion. Ryan's eyes widened at the amount of food Kirsten was putting on his plate.

Fear, intimidation, bullying, and physical violence had all been good ways to keep Ryan submissive. But Art had wanted more. Soon after his mother died, Art discovered that keeping Ryan underfed was a new means of power over the boy. Twelve year olds were always hungry. He learned that if he used the promise of, or the threat of withholding food, Ryan could be easily manipulated. It hadn't been difficult to make the boy believe that eating was a privilege he had to earn every day.

It was a fine line Art had mastered between starvation and malnourishment. If he went too far and the kid got too hungry, he could become desperate, and desperation could lead to rebellion. He gave Ryan barely enough to eat to keep him just above that point. The almost constant gnawing of an empty stomach made Ryan weak, diminishing the fight he had in him. Hunger gave Art complete control over Ryan; he did as he was told.

Ryan started shoveling the food into his mouth, surprised at how good the strange looking food tasted. His meeting with Sandy had taken place over the allotted time for breakfast in Juvie. Even before then, he had been disappointing Art, and it had been a couple of days since he had last been allowed to eat. There were times he thought about taking some of the money he had stolen, and using to buy food, but he always decided it wasn't worth the risk. Art had too many friends that were always happy to rat Ryan out. Hunger pains were nothing compared to what Art would do to him.

"So, Ryan," Seth began. "I understand you steal cars. Would you care to partake in a little of Playstation's version of Grand Theft Auto after dinner?"

Ryan nearly choked on his food, while the adult Cohens cried Seth's name in admonishment.

"What?' He asked, feigning confusion. "It's not like its some big secret. We all know about it. There was tension in the room, and I helped break the ice. Besides, I could really use some pointers."

Sandy shook his head in amusement. "Ryan, let me be the first to apologize for my bad-mannered son."

"You don't need to. It's okay…really." He turned the right side of his mouth up in a kind of half-smile. There was something about Seth he liked. It was obvious he had nothing in common with the rich, obviously spoiled and more than slightly geeky teen, but Ryan still found himself wishing that things were different and they could have been friends.

He pushed thoughts of friendship and the kindness of Mrs. Cohen aside. They only served to make Ryan feel guilty. He couldn't let a couple of Band-Aids, a full stomach, and a round of video games interfere with why he was here. He had a job to do, plain and simple. He may not like it, but he had no other choice. He would either get it done, or suffer the consequences.

"So, is that a yes?"

"Sure, if that's okay?" He looked at Sandy and Kirsten to check if it was all right. "But I don't know how much help I'll be. I don't own any video games, and the one time I tried to steal a car in real life, I got arrested."

Seth and Sandy both laughed. Ryan looked around the table in confusion; he hadn't meant to be funny. But even Kirsten was hiding a smile behind her napkin.

"Dude, inappropriate humor, you fit in already around here. But seriously, you don't have any video games? What do you do all day?"

Ryan didn't know how to respond. He couldn't very well tell Seth him he spent his days picking pockets, stealing purses, and occasionally shoplifting. A rich kid like Seth would never understand how his life consisted of earning his keep or facing Art's wrath. He answered with a very noncommittal, "I don't know, just stuff."

Sandy saved him from any further questioning. "Son, not everyone in the world is as pampered as you and has to have the newest video game technology the very second it is released."

"Pampered? Me? Father, I don't know what you're talking about. You must mean someone other than yours truly." He placed his hands on his chest. "Besides, even it was the truth, which I'm not saying it is, I need it for research when I write my own graphic novel. Of course, someone of your advanced years wouldn't understand about modern video games anyway. _You_ have never moved passed Atari." Imitating an old man Seth continued in a shaky, raspy voice, "Anyone up for a rousing game of Pong?"

Ryan gripped his fork, rubbing his thumb over the stem in nervous anticipation. Seth had smarted off to his father and there were bound to be repercussions. Mr. Cohen could not possibly permit Seth to talk to him that way. Ryan kept his head bowed, and tried to scoot farther back in his chair, hoping to go unnoticed. He felt bad for Seth and the beating that he was sure to get, but that didn't mean he wanted to draw attention to himself and risk sharing in the punishment.

After a moment passed, he looked up in astonishment. There was no hitting or cursing, not even the slightest hint of a threat. In fact, Mr. Cohen just laughed and made a wise-crack back to Seth. Ryan had never experienced anything like this before. Even when his parents were together, his only memories of family life were of drinking, crying, getting hit, and the occasional visit from the cops. Ryan continued to eat in silence while observing the strange family.

As he studied the Cohens, his eyelids began to grow heavy and his head started to nod. It had been a long two days, and he hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours. It was late Thursday evening when he had attempted to steal the car, and by the time he had been processed through Detention Center, it was already morning. It hadn't mattered to Ryan at the time; he didn't think he could have slept in the tiny jail cell, anyway. But everything that had happened to him in the past two days began to catch up with him. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

"Ryan, Ryan, I'm sorry, but you need to wake-up." He heard Kirsten's soft voice prodding him awake and felt the slight tug as she tried to pry the fork from his hand.

He awoke in a fright, realizing what he had done. He began to stammer a panic filled apology. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just so tired. I'm really sorry."

Sandy tried his best to sound casual, in an attempt to calm the terror-stricken boy, "That's okay, kid. Don't worry about it. We know you've had a long day. Seth, I think your video games can wait until tomorrow morning. Ryan, why don't you go on to bed?"

Ryan nodded and stood, trying to slow his breathing down to normal. He wanted to make a break for the pool house, to get away from Mr. Cohen before he could change his mind, but he didn't. Instead, he began to gather his dishes to take to the sink. Kirsten stopped him, taking the dishes from his trembling hands. "Ryan, it's okay. I'll get these."

"No, I couldn't let you do that. You've done enough for me already. You shouldn't have to clean up after me too. I'm used to it; I always do the dishes at Art's."

She frowned for a moment; it struck her as odd that he would refer to his home that way.

"Well, I do the dishes here. It's one plate and one glass; I think I can handle the extra work." She smiled at him and tried to keep her tone light. "Go ahead and do what Sandy told you and go to bed. You look worn out. We'll see you in the morning."

He muttered a quick thank you, cast one last nervous look at Sandy, and headed out the doors.

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Ryan just finished brushing his teeth when he heard a knock on the pool house door. He grabbed his sweatshirt and made sure it was zipped at least half way up before leaving the bathroom. His tank top left the welts on his shoulders exposed. An all too familiar feeling of dread swept over him as soon as he saw Mr. Cohen standing in the doorway.

He should have known better. For just a few minutes, he had allowed himself to believe that he was safe for the night. He thought back over all the things he had done wrong since meeting Mr. Cohen in Chino. He had made a smart ass remark to him, eaten too much when he hadn't deserved anything, fell asleep at the table, and had not done the dishes. On any given day, just one of those mistakes would have warranted a severe punishment from Art.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to remember all he had studied earlier. Mr. Cohen was blocking one set of doors, but that still left two more. There were two chairs and a table blocking the way out. He had to remember to be careful when he ran; there were just a few feet between the doors and the pool. But then what? He wouldn't be hard to catch without his bike. And get away to where? Going back to Chino wasn't an option. He couldn't very well tell Art that he had come back empty-handed because someone was going to hit him. Ryan knew that whatever Mr. Cohen had planned for him would pale in comparison to Art's fury over being disobeyed. He dug his hands deeper into the sweatshirts pockets, pulling the material around him like a shield. As if somehow the thin, worn material could safeguard him against the blows he was sure were yet to come. He was trapped… again.

He was completely taken aback when Mr. Cohen started talking and placed a pile of clothing on the bed.

"Kirsten thought you could use some clothes to sleep in tonight and for the rest of the weekend - a few t-shirts, some sweats, and a couple pairs of jeans. They're just some old things of mine, so they might be too big, but Seth is so scrawny. We figured anything of his wouldn't fit you. Don't tell him I called him that, he prefers the term lean. You can leave your things to be washed in the bathroom hamper."

Ryan blushed seeing the unopened package of boxers on top of the pile. "Thanks, but my clothes will be fine. You don't need to go any trouble. I don't mind wearing the same things for a couple of days."

"You may not mind, but believe me, Kirsten will. Women are funny about those kinds of things. It's not a big deal, trust me. It will be a lot less hassle if you just do what Kirsten wants. I learned that a long time ago."

"Okay, if that's what you want. Thanks again." He stood there staring at the clothes, not quite sure if he was suppose to do or say anything more.

"Good night, kid. See you tomorrow. Sleep as late as you want. Come on in the house after you wake up. Seth will probably be waiting to play that video game with you." With that, he turned and walked out of the pool house, leaving a stunned and completely confused Ryan behind him.

Ryan picked out a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and went to the bathroom to change. He winced as he peeled off his tank top. Some of the cuts on his back had begun to scab over, causing the shirt to stick to his skin as they dried and healed. He decided against taking a shower until the next morning, hoping it wouldn't be as painful if he gave the sores a few more hours. He slipped on one of the clean t-shirts. It was a bit too big on him, but other than that it was fine. Art had mainly confined his lashes to Ryan's backside. He was lucky; the only bruising on his arms was where Art had grabbed while throwing him out. He did need to be careful of that though. If he moved his arm too much the shirt sleeve rode up, revealing the dark bruise. That was a small price to pay for not having to wear his hoodie the entire weekend. A sweatshirt in the middle of summer was bound to lead to questions.

He crawled on the bed, lying down on his stomach. He had trained himself to not sleep on his back a long time ago. He grabbed a pillow, not bothering with the comforter. He knew that even the light weight of the sheets would add to the dull, throbbing pain that enveloped his entire backside.

He groaned, but this time not only because of his injuries. He hadn't paid attention to the locks, the security, or anything. He vaguely remembered Mr. Cohen driving through a gate when they arrived, but he wasn't sure if there was someone watching the entrance or not. He knew he would have to be better tomorrow. He had to figure out a way to see more of the house and learn about their security system. He didn't know how he was going to get any of this done. He needed a plan, and he needed it now. He couldn't afford to waste any more time trying to figure these people out. But his thoughts kept drifting back to them and how nice they had been to him. He was sure that would change; no one had been this good to him since…since forever. He couldn't even remember his own mother not being cruel to him. Why were they doing all of this for him? What was in it for them? Try as he might, he could come up with no answers before drifting off to sleep.

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- Nothing major- Ryan angst & a couple of swear words.

**Beta: **As always a huge debt of gratitude to loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Thank You: **Previously I forgot to thank loracj2, beachtree, finlee, and fifimom for helping me out with questions regarding home security and gated communities. That information will finally show up next chapter. Also, thanks to katwoman for letting me bounce ideas off of her.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Four**

Ryan awoke in stages.

His first sensation, as always after one of Art's punishments, was one of aching soreness. The mornings were always the worst. It was as if the previous day's suffering settled deep into every joint and muscle. Even the slightest movement would bring with it a new level of hurt. He buried his head deeper into the pillow, trying to brace himself for the wave of pain that he knew was to come.

It was that movement that caused him to notice the scent of his new surroundings. It was fresh, clean, and completely foreign to him. The house in Chino was old and damp. There was a certain mustiness that never left, no matter what time of year or the weather. It was combined with the lingering odor of stale cigarette smoke and beer. In Chino, the air always hung thick and heavy. At times Ryan thought he could feel it wrapping itself around him. It enveloped him...suffocated him...trapping him all the more.

Rolling on to his side, he stifled a groan. It was important not to make too much noise. Art did not appreciate being woken up by the sound of whining. Ryan attempted to find a comfortable position; one that would not put pressure on his back. He lay there for just a moment, letting the soft warmth of the bed soothe his battered body. It was at that moment he remembered that he was at the Cohens. _The pillow should have given it away, _thought Ryan. He didn't even have one in Chino. Most nights, if it wasn't too cold, and he didn't need it for warmth, Ryan rolled up his sweatshirt into a makeshift pillow. On cooler evenings, he learned to do without, making do by resting his head in the crook of his arm. He had learned to do without a lot of things in his young life.

He didn't have a bed for that matter either, just a thin mattress that did little to protect him from the cold hard floor. He was grateful to even have that much. He had come across it one early afternoon when he was thirteen. A recently evicted neighbor had left it behind on the curb in their haste to get the hell out of Chino. Ryan had been thrilled with the discovery, and had gone out and "found" some sheets in a nearby neighborhood that had been left out to dry. He had never taken anything just for himself before, feeling guilty the entire walk home. With each step he took, the sheets felt heavier and heavier. He had just reached the sidewalk in front of the house when he decided that he had to return them. Stealing because Art made him, and stealing because he could were two entirely different matters. With the sheets still tucked firmly under his arm, he turned to head back to the house where he had found them. Unfortunately, Art had been sitting on the front porch and was down the sidewalk in a flash. He grabbed Ryan's arm and dragged him into the house. He had been furious with Ryan; not believing the boy would take a chance at getting caught stealing something so frivolous. He had ripped the sheets to shreds and thoroughly disciplined Ryan for being so self-indulgent. It was the first and the last time Ryan ever stole for selfish reasons.

As the morning's rays flooded the pool house, Ryan squinted his eyes against the light. He was quite sure the sun never shone quite so brightly in Chino. Once his eyes adjusted, he looked around in awe at the Cohens' wealth. The previous evening's moonlight had not done justice to their home. He had only seen places like this on television and in magazines, and even then he had doubted people actually lived in them. Gingerly he rose from the bed, and walked to the glass doors directly in from of him, taking in the infinity pool and the mansion.

He couldn't help but think of how horribly unfair it all was. The Cohens were living in the lap of luxury. While for him and his family, if you could call it that, every day was a struggle. Art had always told him that life wasn't fair, but he had never realized the extent of that statement until that very moment. Maybe it wouldn't be so wrong to take from these people. After all, they had so much and he had so little. What would it matter to them if they lost a couple of televisions and some jewelry? They could buy whatever they wanted whenever they wanted.

Stealing was wrong. Ryan could never get past that, and he hated it. But the thought of not having to face Art's disappointment outweighed most of his guilt. Maybe if they made enough on this job, Art would actually be pleased with Ryan for once. Maybe he would even say he was proud of him. And maybe, just maybe, Ryan could have one whole day where he didn't live in utter fear of what Art would do to him if he returned empty handed. Ryan shook his head, angry with himself for daydreaming about what could be. He wasn't going to get anywhere staring at the scenery all day. Focusing back on the task at hand, he headed toward the bathroom to take a shower. He wracked his brain trying to come up with some sort of plan.

Wincing as he peeled off his shirt, he twisted his upper body in an attempt to get a better look at his back. Some of the welts were healing, while others were beginning to take on an angry red appearance. Perhaps not taking a shower the night before hadn't been such a good idea. The hot water might have helped with the infection. There was nothing he could do about that now. Besides, it wasn't the first time he had to deal with infection and it wouldn't be the last. He shouldn't be wasting time worrying about a few cuts and bruises. He had a job to do.

He casually threw the shirt into the hamper. He paused for a moment and watched it land on top of his own white tank top. Shit, how could he be so dumb? Not once had he thought about how his back would bleed through onto the shirts. He picked up both shirts looking at the dark reddish brown marks that mottled them. Remembering what Mr. Cohen had told him the night before about leaving his clothes to be washed, he cursed in frustration. He couldn't take the chance of someone seeing the shirts and asking questions.

Also, there was the underlying fear of what Mr. Cohen would do to him if he discovered what Ryan had done to his shirt. For some bizarre reason, the man had been kind enough to loan him some clothes, and Ryan in his stupidity, may have ruined one them. He knew the consequences of being careless. He had to get those stains out himself.

Suddenly, Ryan smiled. It was so easy; he should have thought of it before. He finally had the beginnings of a plan. He could wash them himself; thus, taking care of two problems at once. He would be able clean the shirts, before anyone found out about the stains, and it would give him an excuse to see more of the house. He never thought he would be grateful for being beaten. Art had been right; Ryan never did appreciate all the things he did for him.

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Kirsten had just finished her second cup of coffee when Sandy arrived home from his morning surf. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. "Morning, honey. You're up early for a Saturday."

"I have to go into work for a little while today. Dad and I have a big meeting with some new clients on Monday and I need to get prepared. I doubt I'll be home until after lunch."

"That's okay. I'm sure we'll manage." He looked around the house. "Where's Seth? From the way he was acting last night, I thought he would be up and waiting for Ryan to play that video game he kept talking about."

"He was, but I sent him outside about twenty minutes ago. You know how high-strung he usually is?"

"Boy, do I ever."

"Well, multiply that by ten. He was literally bouncing off the walls. I swear he asked me every minute on the dot when Ryan was going to wake up. Honestly, from the way he was acting you would think it was Chrismukkah."

"So Ryan's still asleep?"

"Not anymore. About five minutes ago, I saw some movement in the pool house."

Sandy walked to the patio doors staring out at the pool house. Kirsten stood and placed her arm around his waist. "You're really worried about him, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"All of the tossing and turning last night was a fairly good hint. But you left for surfing an hour earlier than usual. That's always a sure sign you have something troubling you."

"I can't help it. There's just something about him. I feel like I should do more for him than simply offer him a bed for the weekend." He turned to her. "Do you think I'm crazy, caring so much for a kid that I've only known for twenty-four hours?"

"No, I don't. He's gotten to me, too. You know how unhappy I was with the idea of you bringing him home, but when I saw him standing there covered in bruises and looking so scared, my heart ached for him. He seemed so lost. Then during dinner, the way he devoured his food. Sometimes I think Seth is going to eat us out of house and home, but there was something different about the way Ryan ate. There was an almost desperate quality to it."

"I know what you mean, honey. He reminds me of this stray dog that used to hang around our apartment building back when I was a kid in the Bronx. Some of the neighborhood kids liked to pick on him. They were constantly teasing it. They would get pretty mean. I always felt so sorry for it. Whenever I could sneak food past Ma, I would feed it every chance I got. The whole time the dog ate, he would look at me like he expected me to take it back. I think he thought I was using the food to trick him. Like I was just luring him close so I could get a better aim. Right up until he fell asleep at the table, Ryan never took his eyes off me during the entire meal. The look on his face while he was eating reminded me exactly of that poor abused dog."

"What happened to him...the dog?"

"I don't know. Maybe he got tired of being picked on by the other kids. Maybe he got sick or hit by a car. The city might have picked him up. He just wasn't around anymore one day. I don't mean to compare Ryan to a stray puppy, but I don't want to be sitting here a week, a month, or year from now and not have any idea where he is. It's more than feeling sorry for him, I feel like I _need_ to help him."

As he spoke with such passion, Kirsten was reminded again of why she loved this man. She pulled him into an embrace.

Seth's arrival broke the moment. "Hold it right there, you two - teenage son in the house. Move it to the other room; no one here needs to see that. "

Sandy sighed and shook his head in mock frustration. "Hello, son, and how are you this fine morning?"

"I still live in the Newport bubble surrounded by pod people, but other than that I'm doing pretty well. Thanks for asking."

"Glad to hear it." Sandy clasped him on the shoulder. "Remember today is Rosa's day off. Your mother has to go into work for a while, and I need to make a few phone calls in my office. So you'll be by yourself until Ryan comes in. Okay?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Dad, that's a lot to handle, but I think I can do it. I'm not planning on burning the house down or anything."

Sandy and Kirsten looked at him with skepticism.

"Don't you two start that again. I was just trying to make my Superman figurine fly."

"Yes, by strapping fireworks to its back and lighting them in the middle of the living room."

"It worked, didn't it? And I still say you should have bought fire retardant drapes. They were a hazard just waiting to happen. But seriously, aren't you ever going to let that go? Give me a break. I was only seven."

Sandy cleared his throat, and raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, twelve, but I haven't done anything like that in years. You can trust me now."

"We can only hope," Kirsten said. "I need to get dressed for work." With that, she headed for the bedroom, and Sandy went to his office.

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Seth decided to wait for Ryan by playing his favorite Ninja game. He would have never admitted it to his mom, but he was glad she had basically kicked him out of the house earlier that morning. He had been so full of nervous energy. The hour of skateboarding had managed to calm him down. When Ryan did finally wake-up he didn't want him to think he was a complete spaz with no friends. Just because it was the truth didn't mean he wanted to advertise it.

He had just annihilated the last Death Warrior when he heard the knock on the patio doors. Without getting up, he waved Ryan into the house. "Hey. You know you don't need to knock every time you want to come in." Noticing the clothes in Ryan's arms he added, "What's that?"

"Just some dirty clothes."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that. What are you doing with them?"

"I thought I'd do my laundry this morning. Where are your washer and dryer?" Ryan asked, looking around the room.

"How would I know? Mom and Rosa take care of that kind of thing. I'm not even sure we own such appliances." Seeing Ryan's face he started to laugh. "Dude, I was kidding. Lighten up. Come on, follow me." Seth rose and started down the hall. He stopped mid-step and turned back to Ryan. "I wasn't kidding about Mom or Rosa though. It's their job to do the laundry."

"Who's Rosa?"

"She's the maid and sometimes she even cooks for us, but she doesn't usually work on the weekends. Mom does that sort of stuff then. The laundry I mean, we can only hope and pray that she doesn't try to cook. I'm sure she would probably wash your clothes for you, if you asked."

A maid; he should have known. People as rich as these would naturally have someone to clean up for them. It was just something else he would have to add to the list of things to worry about. It wasn't just the family that needed to be gone when he and Art came back, now he had to make sure the maid wasn't around. Seth told him she didn't work weekends, but when did she work during the week and how late did she stay? Things seemed a lot more complicated again.

"I would rather do it myself. Your folks have done enough for me. I don't need to cause anymore work for them."

"Suit yourself. Try not to let my mom find out, though. I don't want you putting any ideas in her head about me needing to help out more around here."

Seth led him down the hallway, past the dining room, all the while he made mental notes of everything he saw.

"Well here we are," Seth proclaimed, and opened the doors to reveal the washer and dryer. "Knock yourself out."

"What's down that way?" Ryan pointed down the hall.

"Not much, my dad's office and their bedroom. Do you need to talk to one of them? They're both still home."

"No." Realizing he had said that a little too fast, he tried to cover himself. "I was just curious. This place is huge."

"Really, you think so? It's not half as big as my grandpa's place."

Before Ryan had time to process that information, Kirsten's voice called from the kitchen. "Seth, I'm leaving now. Where are you?"

"We're in the laundry room, Mom."

"Laundry room? Are you lost?"

"Ha-ha. I think we've talked about you not trying to be funny haven't we, Mother? I'm here because I was showing Ryan where he could wash his clothes."

Kirsten turned her attention to Ryan surveying his appearance. The bruises on his face were turning different colors, and the swelling around his eye didn't appear to be going down much, but all in all, he didn't look any worse than the night before. She smiled as she noticed the clothes he was wearing. She had been right; they were a little big on him. The jeans were baggy and rested low on his hips, while the t-shirt's sleeves went clear to his elbows. Somehow, the loose fitting clothes made him look younger and making her want to protect him. She wondered if this was the way Sandy felt when he looked at the boy. Her staring was beginning to make him nervous, she noticed. He kept shifting his weight from side to side.

"I'm sorry, Ryan. I was just looking to make sure the bruises on your face weren't any worse. Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Yes, thank you." He moved the clothes to his other arm.

"You know," Kirsten said, and pointed to the clothes. "You don't have to do that. I can wash them later this afternoon, after I get home."

"I can't let you do that. I'm used to doing all the laundry."

"It's not a problem. I'll just throw them in with Seth's things." She reached to take the clothes from him. He took a step back, hugging the clothes tighter to his chest.

"No, really, I can take care of it. Besides, you shouldn't have to wash my," he struggled for the right words. "Um, well, you know all my clothes." He hoped that she would just let it drop. He had no idea what to do if she kept insisting.

Kirsten took his hesitancy for embarrassment. She gave him an amused grin. "Ryan, I do Seth's laundry all the time. I know what teenage boy's underpants look like."

"Mom, do NOT say underpants."

"Sorry, sweetie," she apologized. "All right, Ryan, if you want to do your own laundry, I won't stop you."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Kirsten continued with a mischievous look on her face, "You know, Seth, Ryan says he does all the dishes and the laundry at his house. Why don't you have him show you how to do a few of those things? That way, when Rosa is off you can start pitching in around here."

Seth gave Ryan a dirty look. "Do you see what you started? What did I tell you? I hope you can sleep well at night knowing that you have just sentenced me to a life of servitude. It took me fifteen years to mold my parents into doing my every bidding, and you managed to ruin it in one day."

"I think you're overreacting just a bit." Kirsten glanced at her watch. "I've got to get going. Your father's in his study if you need anything. I'll see you boys later this afternoon. Seth, try not to pester Ryan too much."

"I'm not five, Mom." He looked at Ryan. "I swear, sometimes I don't know why I bother to keep them around."

Seth wanted to find out more about Ryan. His parents hadn't mentioned anything about Ryan's family. Seth had been warned about asking him about his face, but they hadn't told him he couldn't ask about anything else. He didn't even know why Ryan was staying here and not with his own parents. "So what about your folks? What are they like? Are they a total embarrassment to you, too?"

Ryan studied the clothes in his arms for a moment before speaking. "My mom's gone. She died over three years ago, and my dad's in prison for armed robbery. I live with my stepdad."

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't know." This was one of the rare times Seth really wished he didn't talk so much. "I'll just go back in the living room and start up the Playstation. I'll see you whenever you're done in here."

After treating the stains on the shirts, and starting the washer, Ryan headed down the hallway in the direction of the Cohens' bedroom. He stopped when he reached the stairs. Mrs. Cohen was gone, but Mr. Cohen was only a few feet away. He could come out of his office at any moment. Ryan couldn't risk going in their bedroom and take the chance of getting caught snooping. It would have to be enough to at least know the general location of the rooms. He hoped that later an opportunity would arise where he would get the chance to explore more of the house. He turned around and joined Seth back in the family room.

"It's about time." Seth threw him a game controller. "That is exactly the reason I don't do any of that cleaning nonsense. It takes too much time, and cuts into my training."

Ryan took a place next to Seth on the floor. "What exactly do you think you're in training for?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll be ready for whatever it is. I just realized, you haven't had breakfast yet. Help yourself to wide variety of cereals, or we have the Cohen staple, bagels."

"I don't know, Seth. Your mom didn't say anything about me eating."

"What are you talking about? She's not going to care if you eat a bowl of Captain Crunch."

"I better not. I don't want your folks getting mad at me, and thinking I'm taking advantage of them."

"Okay, whatever, man." He turned his attention back to the game. "Now get prepared to be amazed at my ultimate power."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Roughly an hour later, Sandy was finished calling in every favor he had owed to him. He had contacted everyone he could think of that would be willing to dig up information on Art or any other member of Ryan's family. It hadn't been easy since it was the weekend, but he was positive that they would come up with something before Monday morning. Now, he just needed to see what he could discover on his computer at work. He had to tell the boys that he would be gone the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He emerged from his office to the various sounds of video games and Seth's constant chatter.

"Dude, what were you thinking? Where was your head, man?"

Even though Ryan wasn't saying a word, Sandy was pleased that the two boys seemed to be getting along so well. He loved Seth, but he wasn't blind. He knew that Seth was different from all the other kids in Newport, and it worried him that he didn't have any friends. Maybe having Ryan around for the weekend would help him out of his shell.

As soon as he set foot in the room, Sandy noticed the change in Ryan. While not anywhere near as animated as Seth, up until that point he had appeared to be relaxed. But the moment he saw Sandy, he dropped the controller, scooted back farther against the couch, drawing his knees to his chest.

Sandy tried to sound casual. "Hello, men. How are you doing this morning, Ryan?"

"Just fine. Do you mind? We're in the middle of a very important game here."

"It's amazing. I didn't even see Ryan's mouth move. Yet, he answered my question while imitating your voice, Seth. Let me try that again. _Ryan, _how are you this morning? Did Seth even let you eat breakfast before starting this marathon of mayhem?"

"He didn't eat anything."

"Seth." Ryan said under his breath, trying to send his new friend a warning.

Sandy looked concerned. "How come you didn't eat breakfast, Ryan? I didn't know fifteen year old boys were ever _not_ hungry."

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders in response.

"He said Mom didn't tell him it was okay. I tried to explain that you guys wouldn't care, but he would listen to me."

"Thank you, Seth, but I want Ryan to talk for himself, please." He looked at Ryan waiting for the boy to make eye contact. "Is that true? Were you worried that we would get mad at you if you ate without permission?"

His answer was yet another shoulder shrug. Sandy went into the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later with a bottle of juice and a bagel. "Here you go. One bagel personally shmeared by the King of Shmear himself, yours truly."

Ryan hesitantly reached out, before drawing his arms back, crossing them against his chest. He muttered something about it being fine and that he was okay. Once again, Ryan's eyes reminded Sandy of the kicked puppy from his youth.

"No, it's not okay. You need to eat. It's important for kids to have three meals a day. Look at Seth - he's a bottomless pit and still scrawny."

"Lean and mean, Dad. I've told you a hundred times…lean and mean."

"Yes, Seth," Sandy said, patronizingly. He put the bagel and juice on the floor in front of Ryan and took a step back. "Here, I didn't make this for myself."

Keeping his head bowed, Ryan glanced at Sandy through his bangs, and then he looked at the bagel, then back to Sandy before finally picking up the bagel and taking a bite.

Sandy smiled. "Thank you. I need to go out for a few hours. You two are on your own for lunch this afternoon." He dug into his back pocket for his wallet and handed Seth a small wad of bills. Ryan's eyes widened at the amount of money Mr. Cohen had in his wallet. If he could score that much picking pockets, his life would be a lot easier.

"Here's some money. You guys get whatever you want." He looked directly at Ryan before continuing, "I'm giving Seth more than enough for _both_ of you. I don't want to come home and hear that you didn't eat lunch, Ryan. For that matter, as long as you are here with us, you eat what you want, when you want. Consider this house your personal smorgasbord. Got it, kid?"

"Okay. I...I'm sorry." He had stopped eating, and was nervously twisting his wrist cuff.

Damn it he hadn't meant to scare Ryan. He just didn't want him to go hungry. He never imagined getting a kid to eat would be such an ordeal.

"I'm not mad, kid. Like I said before, I just want to make sure you're getting enough to eat." He decided to change the subject. "Seth, it's a beautiful day outside. Why don't you show Ryan around?"

"Sure, Dad there's so much to do around here. Let's see we could have plastic surgery or go work out at the club, and _then_ go have plastic surgery. Decisions, decisions."

"Seth," Sandy said. "It's not that bad."

"Easy for you to say." He sighed, and looked at Ryan. "What do you want to do?"

Ryan knew exactly what he wanted to do - he wanted to stay there and explore the house in private. But he knew that was never going to happen. It occurred to him that he still needed to find out a lot more about the Cohens habits and the security system. He bet that it wouldn't be hard to get that information out of Seth. If he spent the afternoon with him, he figured he could find out just about everything he needed to know. Seth was a nice enough guy, but he was completely clueless.

Thinking about pumping Seth for information, a pit began to form in the bottom of Ryan's stomach. He honestly like Seth and hated the thought of using him. He tried to squash those feelings, imagining Art's anger if he failed. So what if Mrs. Cohen seemed genuinely concerned about his face? So what if Mr. Cohen made him a bagel? So what if the past hour he spent with Seth was the first time in forever he actually felt like a normal kid? He couldn't keep letting his feelings for this family get in his way. Where did these feelings come from anyway? They didn't care about him - no one did. And he couldn't afford to care for them. He steeled himself against the foolish emotions he was feeling and turned to Seth.

"I don't know. What do you guys do around here?"

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- abuse, Ryan angst & swearing.

**Beta: **As always a huge debt of gratitude to loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Thank You: **Previously I forgot to thank loracj2, beachtree, finlee, and fifimom for helping me out with questions regarding home security and gated communities. I may have written some things in regards to this incorrectly, but it's how I wanted it to work for the purposes of this story.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**a/n: **I hope the fight scene meets with your approval, katwoman.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Five**

"Well," Seth began. He was drawing a complete blank on ideas for things he and Ryan could do that afternoon. He didn't have much experience in the hanging out with friends department. Truth be told, he had no experience, unless you could count all the time spent with Captain Oats. His only hope was that he didn't come across as a total dweeb. "I guess we could go down to the pier. Maybe take my catamaran out. How's that sound?"

"Cool."

"Good. I'm glad you two boys have some plans. Have fun. I'll see you this afternoon." Sandy grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

"You know, now that my dad's gone, we don't have to go anywhere. We can just hang out here."

"What if he found out we lied to him? Wouldn't he get angry?"

"Pffft." Seth waved his arms nonchalantly. "He'd get over it. It's not that big a deal."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Seth," Ryan said, nervously. "I'm pretty much here because your folks feel sorry for me. I don't want your dad to get mad at me." As much as he wanted to stay here and check out the house, he couldn't risk being found out. He didn't know about Mr. Cohen, but the very thought of directly disobeying Art was enough to make Ryan break out in a cold sweat.

Seth shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, it doesn't matter to me. Whatever you want."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they were halfway down the front steps, Seth turned, dug a small keychain out of his pocket, and pointed it at the front door.

"What's that?" Ryan pointed at the device.

"This? It's the alarm for the house." Seth shoved it back in his pocket. "We each have our own code, but the alarm keeps beeping when you enter the numbers. It's very nerve wracking. I entered the wrong code a few too many times, and the alarm company threatened to shut us off. I mean really, you'd think they'd have been a little more appreciative. Without me, we'd have never known that it takes fifteen whole minutes for the cops to get here."

"Fifteen minutes, huh?" Ryan repeated the numbers in his head, storing the information away for later use.

"Isn't that ridiculous? Some dirty crook-no offense, by the way-could totally steal my entire video game collection in that length of time. If you ask me, which no one ever does, might I add, they should have been thanking me for pointing out a serious flaw in their system. Instead, I got a lecture on the boy who cried wolf. Give me a break. There are no wild animals in Newport. Maybe the Newpsies, but that's a whole different story. Anyway, I have this keychain now. All I have to do is press one button and the alarm is set. Pretty slick, huh?"

"Is that how you turn it off, too?"

"Yep. Hey, do you mind if I take my skateboard?"

"What? Oh, no, go ahead." Ryan couldn't believe his luck; finding out what he needed to know about the alarm system had been relatively simple. He still had to find a way to get that keychain away from Seth, but it was a relief to have at least half of one problem solved. If only Seth had put it into his back pocket, Ryan could have managed to steal it with no problem. It wouldn't have been any different from lifting a wallet. But Seth had put it into his front pocket, a completely different story. Ryan made a mental note to watch Seth carefully when they got back to the house that afternoon. If his luck continued, Seth would be careless, and leave it lying around where Ryan would be able to pocket it with no one being the wiser.

Seth waved at the guard as they walked through the gate. "Hey, Joe. How's it going? How are the wife and kids?"

"Just fine, Seth. Thanks for asking." Joe pointed at Ryan. "It's good to see you with a friend. You spend too much time by yourself or talking to me. You need to hang out more with kids your own age."

"I know. I know. You tell me that every day. This is Ryan, by the way. He's spending the weekend with us."

"I'll make a note of that. Good to meet you, Ryan. Don't let this one talk your ear off."

Ryan gave Joe a half-hearted smile and wave without answering. He was too busy thinking. He wanted to question Seth about the guards, but was afraid it would be pushing it. After all, he had just gotten done asking about the alarm system. It might make Seth suspicious if he started drilling him about the security at the gates. He decided to bide his time, in hopes that with Seth and his penchant for rambling would divulge enough information without actually having to ask any more questions.

"That's Joe. He's pretty cool. He doesn't really get it, though…about the kids around here. They're all blond hair and blue eyes." Seth paused, realizing he was describing Ryan. "Oh sorry, not like you. You're real. The guys around here, they're like the Stepford kids, so perfect it's creepy."

"I understand." Ryan was only half listening at this point. He was still thinking about the guards.

"Hey, how long did it take you and my dad to get here from Chino?"

"I don't know. About an hour, I guess. Why?"

"Well I was just thinking. That's not all that far away. Maybe we could still hang out together after you go home."

"I don't know, Seth. Things are pretty complicated for me right now."

"Come on, why not? Joe saying he was going to put your name down made me think about it. There's a list of the residents and another for people who don't need permission every time they come, like Rosa. I could totally put you on that list. You could show up whenever you wanted, even if we weren't here. If you're on the list Joe, or whoever else was at the gate, would let you in. You could just wait in the pool house, until I got home. What do you think?"

Ryan hated this more than anything he had ever done in his life. He was good at stealing. He knew that. Even Art admitted that he was one of the best pickpockets he had ever seen. However, being a petty thief, even a masterfully skilled petty thief, was not something Ryan ever took pride in. But this, this feeling of being torn ate at him like nothing else ever had.

On one hand, by lying to Seth and telling him they could still be friends, the problem with the guards would be solved. Sure, the Cohens would know without a doubt that he was the one who had robbed them. But what did that matter? It wasn't as if he was planning on seeing them ever again after Monday. The main thing that worried him was that the police knew where he lived. He hoped Art was planning on moving after this was over with.

On the other hand, he felt a whole new level of guilt. He had never known anyone he had stolen from before. And now, here he was going to rob someone who was already calling him a friend. Ryan knew he didn't deserve to have a friend like Seth, and Seth really didn't deserve to be used like this. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. But then, an image of Art flashed through his mind; his face flushed with rage, his arm ready to strike, and the mind numbing terror that was Ryan's constant companion returned destroying any willpower he had managed to build. He knew what he had to do. There was no other choice.

"Sounds great. I'd like that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were times in Ryan's life that he honestly believed that if Art didn't stop hitting him, he would die. He was experiencing that same feeling on Seth's catamaran. He had never been on the ocean before, and if this constant rocking back and forth was all it had to offer, he never wanted to leave dry land again.

"You all right, man? You're looking a little green around the gills."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Ryan didn't say any more for fear of throwing up. He was anything but all right. In addition to his stomach constantly turning flip-flops, the life jacket he wore was rubbing the welts on his back. He could feel some of the sores starting to open again. There was little doubt that they would bleed through onto his shirt again. He would have to be careful to always stay behind Seth once they reached the shore - if he made it back alive.

Hoping to take his mind off his rumbling stomach, Ryan watched Seth aptly maneuver a set of ropes. "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"My grandpa. Sailing is the only thing we have in common. He bought me this boat for my thirteenth birthday."

Ryan remembered back to that same birthday.

_It was his first since his mother had died, and the only thing he had wanted was to go back to Fresno and visit her grave. The whole week before his birthday he had worked extra hard not to make Art angry. In a desperate attempt to get in Art's good graces, he stayed out late each night trying to earn as much money as he could. The morning of his birthday, he awoke at dawn, nerves keeping him from further sleep. Going to Fresno would require permission from Art to take the day off from working. In preparation for this, he hadn't even asked for as much as a glass of water in days. Three long hours later, he finally heard Art moving in the kitchen, getting himself his usual breakfast of beer and Doritos, before plopping himself in front of the television. Ryan hid behind the doorway in the hall, trying to gauge the man's mood that morning. Deciding he could put it off no longer, Ryan took one hesitant step into the living room._

"_Um, Art?" He kept his head down. Art liked it when Ryan appeared completely submissive. _

"_What the hell do you want?"_

"_Well, today's my birthday." He paused, his mouth suddenly gone dry from anxiety. _

"_Yeah, so? You expecting me to care?"_

"_No, of course not. I...I was just wondering if maybe I could not work today. I'd really like to go visit my mom's grave. If that's okay. I don't need you to drive me or anything. I can just hitch a ride." He waited, his body literally shaking in anticipation of Art's reaction._

_Art eyed him with what could almost be described as amusement. He rose from the couch and slowly walked over to the now cowering boy._

"_Look at me." _

_Ryan's head remained bowed._

"_I said, look at me."_

_Ryan had barely lifted his head when Art delivered a backhand that knocked him to the floor. He grabbed Ryan under his arms, hauled him to his feet, and viciously shook him. "You have got to be kidding me. You barely earn your keep around here as it is and now you want fucking vacation?"_

"_I made extra this week to make up for it. Remember, I brought in almost seventy-five dollars yesterday."_

"_Do you think that even comes close to what I have to put out to keep you around? Forget it."_

"_It's just one day."_

"_Boy, do you want me to get the belt?"_

"_N...no, p...please." Ryan began to stutter in fear. _

"_Then don't ask again." Art turned to walk back to the couch. He paused for a moment, and faced Ryan again. "What do you want to visit her grave for anyway?"_

"_She was my mom," he answered, meekly. _

"_Do you think that means anything? Any stray cat in heat can get knocked up. It doesn't make her a mother. Dawn never wanted you. She ever tell you that? If her and your and jailbird father would have had the cash, you would never have been born. She was a junkie and a whore that didn't give a damn about anything other than her next fix. Do you think she would be visiting your grave if it was you that died?" An evil grin formed on his face. "But she didn't just die, did she? She killed herself. One night after you went to bed, she locked herself in the bathroom and swallowed a whole bottle of pills. She didn't even leave a note. She couldn't even bother to take five seconds and say goodbye to you. She must have really hated you to choose death over motherhood. Doesn't sound like much of a mom, does it? Answer me, boy."_

"_No." Ryan was softly crying. Art hated when he acted like a baby, but he couldn't stop. It hurt so much when he talked about his mother that way._

"_Then it's settled. I don't want to hear another word about it. You'll work just like always. No, I take that back; I'm not sure I can trust you. You might still try and sneak over there. When you walk through that door tonight, you better have one hundred and fifty dollars in your hands."_

"_But that's impossible," Ryan protested. He had never stolen anywhere near that amount in just one day._

_Art slapped him again, then grabbed him by the arms, literally lifting him off the ground. _

"_Listen to me, and listen good, brat. You will bring back that much, or **else**. Got it?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Then get out of here." He suddenly released Ryan, causing him to fall. He quickly picked himself up, and hurried out the door, not having a minute to waste. _

_It was eleven-thirty that night before Ryan finally rounded the corner in front of the house. He had worked himself to the point of exhaustion, managing to steal exactly one hundred forty-eight dollars. He walked slowly home, examining the sidewalk for any loose change to help make up the difference. He had found none. With a great amount of trepidation, Ryan walked through the front door. He didn't think Art would get too angry over a couple of bucks. He was wrong. For the lack of two dollars, Art broke two of Ryan's fingers. He held his throbbing hand against his chest and listened to Art berating him for being worthless, lazy, and too stupid to follow the simplest orders. The only wish Ryan had for his birthday that year was for it to be over. _

That birthday and the two following were a far cry from getting a boat from your grandfather. Ryan didn't want to admit to himself, but he was beginning to feel jealous of Seth. The unfairness of it all hit him hard. Ryan would have given anything to live Seth's life for just one day.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Seth ran a hand across the side of the boat. "Her name's the Summer BreezeI named her after a girl..._the_ girl."

"You have a girlfriend?" Ryan didn't mean to sound quite so surprised, but he had gotten the impression Seth was a loner.

"No, she's not my girlfriend. She's not even a friend who's a girl. I've never spoken a single word to her. I've tried a few times, but every time I get near her, I can't seem to speak." He noticed Ryan's look. "Yeah, I know, me speechless. Who'd have thought that was even possible? Things are going to be different this year, though. I get my license in the spring, and I'm going to ask her out." A small sad smile crossed his features. "I mean it could happen, couldn't it? A guy can dream, can't he?"

Ryan didn't know about that. Where he came from having a dream only made you weak. Dreams didn't come true in Chino. But this wasn't Chino, it was Newport; their whole lives were a dream world. If Seth wanted to believe in fantasies, who was he to stop him? "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

With that, Seth returned to his excitable fast talking self. "Really? I'm glad someone else thinks so. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe we better take the boat in. You still don't look so good, and I'm starving."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Seth tied up the boat, Ryan sat down on the dock, putting his head between his knees. He was so focused on not getting sick, he forgot all about his back.

"Okay, I'm ready." Seth walked over to Ryan. "Hey, what happened to your shirt?"

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, holding his stomach, deciding he hated the ocean.

"There's stuff all over the back." Seth looked closer. "Dude, are you bleeding?"

Ryan immediately sat up. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

"Bleeding through your shirt is a lot more than nothing. How'd it happen? Do my folks know you're hurt?"

"Seth, you can _not _tell your folks about this. I already told you it's not a big deal. I must have scraped my back when I wrecked my bike."

"They told me not to ask you about it, but since you brought it up – is that what happened to your face? Because that doesn't make any sense, I've fallen off my skateboard tons of times, before I became the semi-pro that I am now, I mean, and my face never looked as bad as yours, and I never managed to make my back bleed."

"Well, that's what happened. I took a header over the top of the handle bars, and skidded across some gravel. Okay?" Realizing the harshness of his tone, he continued more calmly, "Please, Seth. I'm not really hurt. It doesn't even bother me. I don't want your folks finding out. Please, just drop it."

Seth wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't understand why Ryan didn't want his parents to find out he was hurt. He was certain they would want to know about this, but he didn't want to make Ryan mad at him. In the end, he went against his better judgment and decided to abide by Ryan's wishes. "If that's what you want. Mum's the word. They won't find out about it through me."

"Thanks." Ryan stood up, once the earth finally stopped spinning. "I thought you said you were starving."

Seth eyed Ryan. "I don't think that's such a good idea. You still look like you're going to hurl. Why don't we just walk around for a while? I could show you where I get the best deals on comic books. If you're up to it - does it hurt to walk? I noticed that you move kind of slow, but I didn't want to say anything before."

"I'm fine, just a little sore. But I think waiting to eat is a good idea. You read comic books?"

"I prefer the term graphic novel."

The two boys continued down the pier, Seth talking a mile a minute. Ryan looked around in amazement. He had never experienced the display of wealth that surrounded him. These people had to be the easiest marks in the world. They were practically begging to get robbed. At any other time, he would have had a field day here. The woman pulled out their make-up in the middle of the street, leaving their purses wide open. Men left their wallets casually laying around on counter tops and tables. It was almost too simple. Ryan had to control the urge to help himself to the plentiful pickings. He could hide today's haul, and be set for weeks after he returned to Art. But he didn't. There were rent-a-cops all over the place, and he couldn't risk getting caught. Art would kill him if he messed this up over a few wallets.

If he wanted to admit the truth, he just didn't want to think that way for one afternoon. He was so tired of eyeing up every person he saw, wondering how much money they had, if they were worth the risk. He remembered that morning playing video games with Seth, and how normal it felt. Ryan wanted more of that feeling, if only for a little while. He wanted to hang out at the pier with his friend, eat at a restaurant, and more than anything he wanted to be like any other teenager, to not be different. He only wished it could last for more than a few hours.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After an hour of walking around and checking out Seth's favorite comic stores, the boys decided it was time for lunch. Given Ryan's obvious hang-ups on eating, Seth decided a burger joint was the best bet.

They had almost finished eating when trouble walked through the door in the form of two Harbor School jocks.

"Oh look, Chet. Isn't that cute? Steph Cohen has a date."

"Great," Seth muttered. He slapped his knee, pointed to the two boys, and faked a laugh. "Good one, guys. My name's Seth and you called me Steph. Funny. I haven't heard you use that one since school let out."

"Who are those guys?" Ryan asked.

"Chet Steadman and Logan Flowers. They're water polo players from school. I'm not exactly popular with the "in" crowd."

Chet and Logan sauntered over to the table. Grabbing a couple of chairs, and flipping them around, so their arms rested on the backs.

"So," Chet began, taking one of Ryan's fries. "You must be new. Everyone else knows not to hang around with queer-boy here."

"Big talk from two guys who get off shaving each other's chests."

Logan grabbed the front of Seth's shirt. "What'd you just say, fag?"

"I said you two are the best." Seth gave them a thumbs up. "Water polo players, I mean."

"Let go of him." Ryan's voice was low and dangerous. He wanted to smash their faces, but he knew in his condition, he wouldn't be able to take them both. It was pretty obvious that he would be the one doing all the fighting; Seth would be of no help.

"It's okay, Ryan. Let's just go." Seth tried to stand, but Logan pushed him back down.

"Leaving so soon? We were just starting to have some fun."

"Unless," Chet added. "New guy here isn't his boyfriend. He does look a little rough around the edges. Maybe Cohen found him on a street corner." He looked at Ryan and sneered. "Is that right? Are you a working boy? Are you on the clock right now?" He leaned closer. "So tell me, does Cohen pay you by the hour or by the lay?"

Ryan snapped. He might have to endure Art's endless abuse, but no way in hell was he going to take it from these spoiled rich kids. He jumped up, grabbed Chet and delivered a blow that sent him flying on top of a nearby table. Ryan was about to hit him again, when he was tackled from the side by Logan. He pinned Ryan to the ground and started pounding away. As soon as Chet recovered, he quickly joined his friend. Ryan didn't stand a chance. He had been right; it was too soon after Art's beating to be able to put up much of a fight. He concentrated on defending himself as much as possible from the onslaught of continuous blows.

Seth looked on in astonishment. He had never seen a real fight before, let alone actually been involved in one. He realized he should be doing something to help. He grabbed Logan by the back of the shirt, catching him off guard, and pulled him off Ryan. Logan stared at Seth, completely shocked that the school's biggest wimp would dare touch him, before pulling his arm back to punch him. Luckily, for Seth the manager and two waiters appeared and broke up the fight. One waiter grabbed Logan's arm just in the nick of time, while the other waiter pulled Chet off Ryan, and the manager hauled Ryan to his feet.

"You two," the manager ordered, indicating Chet and Logan. "Sit down, eat, and don't cause any more trouble. And you two…" He grabbed Seth and Ryan by the arm and started dragging them to the door. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you again."

Seth protested, "Us? What about them? They were the ones who started it."

"This is the way I see it. Those two are regular customers. Their parents are regular customers. You two bozos, I don't know. And from where I was standing, this punk here," He jerked Ryan's arm. "Threw the first punch. So out you go." With that, he shoved them out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rush from the fight quickly wore off, leaving Ryan to feel its full effects. It hurt to move. He made his way over to a nearby bench. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have started the fight."

"Are you kidding me? That was AWESOME! Sorry I couldn't be of any more help. Do you think you could teach me how to fight? I think with a little work, I could really be a contender." He started shuffling his feet in an odd sort of dance, and jabbing the air.

Ryan smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, you'd be a regular Rocky Balboa." He held his side, groaning as he sat down.

"Oh my gosh. I didn't even think about how you might be hurt. Are you okay? Should I call my parents?" Seth pulled out his cell phone. Ryan made and attempt to grab Seth's arm, but came up short when a shooting pain in his ribs stopped him cold.

"No, don't. I'll be fine. I don't want your parents to know I...we got into a fight."

"Uh, dude. I think they're going to figure that one out."

"How? They didn't even touch you, and my face couldn't look any worse than it did."

"You don't know my mother. She has the eyes of a hawk, trust me she'll notice. Besides, unless you know how to sew, this shirt is a pretty big clue." He tugged at the now torn shirt sleeve.

"Shit. This is your dad's shirt. He is going to be so pissed at me."

"I thought it looked familiar. It's just an old shirt he wears after surfing. He's got a ton of them. I wouldn't worry about it."

It had been Ryan's experience that there was always something to worry about. "What's your dad like when he gets angry?"

"What?"

Ryan sighed in frustration. "Your dad, what does he do when he gets mad? Is it pretty bad?"

"Oh you know, he's a lawyer. He loves to talk. Mostly it's blah, blah, blah, act your age. Blah, blah, blah, you need to start acting more responsible. The usual parental lectures. But when he really gets mad, watch out. He turns into a regular Godzilla." Seth raised his hands like claws, and made a roaring noise. He didn't realize he was confirming Ryan's worst fears.

Ryan swallowed a lump in his throat. "Godzilla, huh?"

"Uh huh, but like I said, don't sweat it about the shirt. He's not going to care. If you want to worry about clothes, worry about what my mom is going to make you wear tonight to the fashion show."

"Fashion show? What fashion show?"

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- Ryan angst

**Beta: **The invaluableloracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Six**

Kirsten just sat down at the kitchen table when Sandy arrived home from spending the afternoon at his office. Slowly, he approached the table holding his briefcase like he was carrying the weight of the world. From his expression, Kirsten knew that something was deeply troubling him, and she was sure that something was named Ryan.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He looked around the room. "Are Seth and Ryan back yet?"

"I don't think so, but I've only been home a few minutes. Sit down and talk to me." She pulled out the chair next to her. "You look horrible."

With a heavy sigh he took the offered chair, placing the briefcase in front of him. He sat there quietly for a moment, his thumb and palm slowly tracing its stitching. Finally, he spoke. "It's Ryan."

"I know that, honey." She gave him a small sad smile, and placed her hand on his.

"Do you know that he didn't eat breakfast this morning because you didn't tell him he could?"

Kirsten was taken aback. She tried remembering if she could have possibly said something to Ryan that would have led him to believe that he wasn't allowed to eat. "Honey, you know I would never..."

"No, of course not. My point is that poor kid wouldn't eat so much as a bowl of cereal without permission. Seth told me he was afraid we'd get mad at him."

"But that's ridiculous. You did finally get him something to eat, didn't you?"

"Yes, I made him a bagel. I practically had to force him to take it. He's scared of me, Kirsten. I can see it in his eyes."

"There's something more, isn't there? Where did you go this afternoon?"

"I know I told you that I was going to wait until Monday morning to see if I could find out any information on Ryan and his stepfather. But I couldn't get it out of my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I knew Monday would be too late."

"Did you find anything out?"

"Yes and no. First, I called in a few favors and pulled a couple of strings. I have people looking up Art's past, both on and off the record. They assured me they'll have something by tomorrow evening at the latest. I didn't want to sit around here and wait. I needed to do something myself. I've spent the last four hours seeing what I could dig up at work. I couldn't come up with anything on Art. My access is limited to minors."

"I take it, however, that you did find something about Ryan. How bad is it?"

Sandy ran his hands through his hair and sighed again. He looked at her, his eyes showing his concern. "I shouldn't be showing you this. It's confidential. I only received access to it because I'm his lawyer, but you _need_ to be aware what we're dealing with here."

"You're doing the right thing, honey. I do need to know. I want to help him, too."

He took a manila folder out of his briefcase. "This is Ryan's social service file."

Something about the way Sandy sounded made Kirsten feel sick before even looking at the file. She wasn't naive. She knew that there were kids out there who came from troubled and abusive homes. She and the other wealthy women in the community held countless fundraisers for children like that every year. It made them feel good about themselves...helping the less fortunate. However, those kids were little more than faces on billboards and on the cover of informational pamphlets. They weren't supposed to be the painfully polite boy that she was already growing fond of despite herself.

"What does it say?"

"It's what it doesn't say that concerns me the most. But I'll get to that in a minute." He opened the file, and started sifting through the pages. "Ryan was the only child of Dawn and Larry Atwood from Fresno. They were just kids themselves when they got married, seventeen and nineteen. She was pregnant with Ryan at the time. Both came from poor families. During the course of their marriage, there were several reports of domestic disturbances. The neighbors called the police often due the noise from within their house. However, when the police arrived, Dawn would always deny that there was any sort of problem, and the cops left with nothing more than a warning to keep it down. Ryan had a few unexplained "accidents" that resulted in trips to the emergency room. Dawn claimed he fell a lot. The authorities could never prove differently. When Ryan was old enough to start school, the teachers constantly reported possible abuse and neglect. They said he was too small for his age, he wore the same clothes several days in a row, and they rarely saw him without a black eye or a split lip."

"But with all those reports something was done, right?"

"I wish I could tell you yes, honey, but once again, they couldn't prove anything. Naturally, both parents denied any allegations of abuse, and Ryan backed up every story they came up with."

"How could they believe them?"

"I'm afraid the people who are in charge of cases like these are overworked and underpaid. With no real evidence to support the claims and without Ryan's statement, their hands were tied."

"I just can't believe no one did anything to help him. Last night, when you first told me about Ryan, you mentioned his father was in prison. What were things like after his father's arrest?"

"More of the same. From the time of Larry's arrest when Ryan was seven, until his mother married Art four years later, a long list of boyfriends came in and out of their lives. Unfortunately, for her and for Ryan, she didn't have the best taste in men. Not one of them wasn't an ex-con with violent tendencies. Once again, despite all the tell-tale signs of abuse, no one could prove a thing. You think someone would have bothered asking a few more questions. I mean how many times can one kid fall down the stairs?"

"How could a mother let her child be subjected to men like that? I can't imagine letting someone ever hurt Seth."

"I know you couldn't, but Dawn wasn't you. She was an alcoholic and a drug abuser. She was one of those women who thought she needed a man by her side no matter what the consequences were to Ryan. From what I could find, it appears that she and Art were married for less than a year when she died of a drug overdose. It was deemed a suicide."

"I had no idea. What does the file say after that?"

"That's what I meant before, when I said what's not in the file is what's really worrisome. The file just ends there."

"What do you mean it just ends?"

"That's it. There is simply no more information after Dawn's death. No police records, no medical records, nothing from the school. The only thing I know is that at some point after her death, they moved to Chino. I'm not even sure of the exact date."

"But surely the teachers in Chino would have reported the same things as before? They just wouldn't have ignored a kid who came to school with bruises."

"That's the part that really bugs me. I can't find any record of Ryan attending school after they moved."

"Are you trying to tell me he doesn't go to school? How can that be? Wouldn't someone have eventually noticed that he didn't show up for school?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think so. Dawn died in the summer when school was out. They probably moved before the new year started. I assume the people at the school in Fresno knew about her death and the move, and didn't think any more about it."

"Shouldn't someone have realized that a new school never requested his transcripts?"

"I'm afraid it was probably another case of being understaffed. Ryan just fell through the cracks. I'm guilty too. Whenever I get a new case, the school's records are always a part of the file. I remember at the time, thinking it was unusual that I didn't have anything, but I didn't look any further. If Ryan wasn't here with us now, I would have never given it a second thought."

"What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know yet. The bruises on his face, the stiffness in his movement, hell, the kid flinches whenever I get within five feet of him...there is no doubt in my mind that he is being abused. For right now, I think we should wait until my sources find out more about Art before confronting Ryan with what we know."

"And until then?"

"I think the main thing is to try and gain Ryan's trust. He's never admitted to anything in the past. That's how everyone has gotten away with it. He needs to know that we're not the enemy. I'm sure Art and the others have convinced him that if he ever tells he'll just get taken away and put somewhere worse. They may even have him believing he's only getting what he deserves. We have got to let him know that we want to help him. We need to spend some time with him. Let him know that were not a couple of do-gooders. That we honestly do care. And this is where I need to know that you're backing me up. I want him to know that we are not just going to hand him over to social services and forget about him. I'm not sure to what extent our involvement should be, but I think we need to be there for this kid. I want to help him in every way we can. I can't tell you how much I need your support on this."

Kirsten took both his hands in hers and squeezed tightly. "You have it."

Xxxxxxxxxx

Seth was halfway up the front steps when he realized Ryan was no longer behind him. He turned to find Ryan still standing in the driveway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the ground.

"Um, Ryan, what are you doing? Aren't you coming in?"

He hunched his shoulders a bit more, and kicked at a stray rock. "I was thinking, maybe I should walk around to the pool house. You know, wash up first before seeing your parents."

Seth let out an exasperated sigh, and stomped down the steps, throwing his hands in the air. "Oh, for crying out loud. You still don't think they're going to be mad at you over some stupid shirt do you? I don't mean to be sound like a snob, but look at this place." He waved his arm at the house. "Do you honestly believe a ten-dollar t-shirt is a big deal to my parents? I have that much in late fees to the video store every week, and I've never heard a word about it."

"It's not the same, Seth. You're their son. I'm not. Believe me, there's a difference. I have had enough run-ins with my mom's boyfriends and my stepdad to know that people don't appreciate some other guy's kid messing up their stuff."

Seth frowned and cocked his head to the side, studying his new friend. He'd heard kids at school talk about not getting along with their stepparents. He hadn't thought about how Ryan and his stepdad might be like that. Seth realized how stupid he had been. If they had a good relationship, Ryan wouldn't be spending the weekend with them. He decided he was just going to have to show Ryan that his dad was pretty cool about stuff like that. Well, maybe cool wasn't the right word. He was still a dad, and had tendencies to embarrass him in public. But Ryan needed to know that he wouldn't freak out and yell at him over little things.

"I'll bet you a dollar."

"What?"

"I'll bet you a dollar that my folks don't get mad at you over the shirt. I'm not saying Dad won't lecture us about fighting. He's a big backer of the theory that violence never solves anything. He should have been born about fifteen years earlier. He could have been a genuine sixties hippie. You know the whole make love not war philosophy. Of course the thought of my parents and well... you know, that's just gross. Anyway, my point is he's not going to care that you tore his shirt. What do you say? Care to gamble?"

"Seth, I don't even have a dollar."

"Fine. I'll lend you one."

"Won't I just owe you two dollars then?"

"Details, details. Okay. If I win, we'll arm wrestle for two dollars. You'll win that one for sure and then we'll be even-steven. Come on, man. It's a win/win situation. You can't lose."

Ryan couldn't believe Seth. He had a way about making him forget about his worries. He shook his head and laughed. "Sure, why not? Your parents are going to find out sooner or later anyway."

Xxxxxxxxxx

By the time the boys entered the house, Sandy and Kirsten had moved their discussion to the living room.

"Mom, Dad, we're home," Seth proclaimed as they walked into the kitchen. Ryan walked on the other side of him next to the kitchen wall, trying to make sure Seth blocked as much of his parents' view of him as possible. "We're going to the pool house, okay?"

"Whoa there, Seth. Stop and tell us about your afternoon. Ryan, did you have a good time?"

Ryan kept his head bowed. He still had hopes of making it to the pool house without the effects of the fight being noticed. "Yes, thank you." Remembering Mr. Cohen's order that morning regarding eating he added, "Thanks for paying for my lunch. It was good."

"So you did eat?"

"Yes, Dad. Ryan cleaned his plate like a good boy. Well, he almost did. Our meal was kind of interrupted by the two Harbor jocks we got into a fight with."

"Fight? What fight?" Sandy rose from the couch, and took a step toward the kitchen.

"Seth, are you nuts? What are you doing?" Ryan couldn't believe it. They had been so close to getting away. He had even made it as far as the patio doors. Ryan inched closer to the handle, turning the knob, praying that Mr. Cohen wouldn't hear the click as he pulled the door open just an inch.

"Calm down. I'm just proving my point," Seth explained under his breath. He turned back to his parents. "It wasn't really much of a fight. They started hassling us, we rumbled, nothing we couldn't handle. The manager broke it up before Ryan and I could do any real damage to them."

"Seth," Sandy said firmly. "You know how I feel about fighting."

Damn, now Seth was in trouble. Despite Seth blabbing about the fight, Ryan knew he couldn't let him take the blame. After all, the fight had been all his fault. He shouldn't have hit the guy in the first place. Maybe, Seth was right. Maybe his dad wouldn't get too mad. Seth didn't look like he could take much in the way of discipline. He held onto that small bit of hope as he stepped forward, placing himself between Seth and his father. If the man was going to blow up at them, Ryan would take the brunt of the blows, giving Seth enough time to escape.

"The fight was my fault, Mr. Cohen. I threw the first punch. Seth didn't do anything wrong. He didn't even get in one swing." He swallowed the lump in his throat and dared to look them in the eye, giving both parents the first good look at his face. "If you're going to punish someone, it should be me."

He braced himself...waiting.

Kirsten broke the silence. "Oh, Ryan, not your other eye." She motioned to a chair. "Sit down, and let me get some ice for it."

Ryan didn't move. He was still waiting for Sandy's reaction.

"Do as she says, kid."

Ryan cautiously took a seat as Kirsten quickly returned with an ice bag. He reached to take it from her, but she ignored him. She carefully placed it on his newly swollen and black eye, causing him to wince. "Sorry about that. It will only sting for a minute. I want you to hold it here until I tell you to take it off."

"Okay. Um, thank you." He didn't know why Mrs. Cohen was bothering with the ice. Mr. Cohen hadn't even started on him yet. Ryan was sure he would need it a lot more later. He couldn't figure the Cohens out. He had only been in their home one day, but he could already tell that things here were a lot different, and he didn't mean the money. It was difficult for Ryan to understand how things worked here. Life with Art was easy...Ryan screwed up and Art kicked his ass, nothing complicated about that. But here, nothing seemed simple or straightforward. Ryan had never met anyone like them before. People weren't this nice. They had to be playing some sort of odd game with him. He didn't like it. They were managing to make him nervous in ways Art never had.

Sandy pulled out a chair, and sat down in front of Ryan. He noticed the boy's sharp intake of breath, and the slight tremor of his hands. He had no intention of frightening him any more than he already was, but it was important for Ryan to know and understand that he needed to be careful. Now that he had a record, he couldn't be going around getting in fist fights.

"All right, you two, I want to hear the whole story. What exactly happened that caused you to get into a fight?"

"Don't believe Ryan, Dad. The fight wasn't his fault. We were just sitting there minding our own business when those two jerks starting insulting us. We even tried to leave, but they pushed us back down in our chairs. That's when Ryan hit Chet. He couldn't help it."

"You can always avoid a fight, Seth." Sandy turned his full attention on Ryan. "Is what Seth said true? Did the other boys put their hands on you first?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders in response. He didn't know what difference any of this made. If he was in trouble, and obviously he was, why did it matter who did what first? Art never cared about the details, according to him everything was Ryan's fault.

Sandy was getting frustrated with Ryan never answering him. He wanted to help this kid. But in order to do that Ryan was going to have to open up to him, and that simply was never going to happen if all he ever did was shrug his shoulders.

Sandy leaned forward, placing both hands on his knees, bridging the gap between the two of them. Ryan in response, attempted to scoot farther back in his chair, trying to regain some distance.

"Listen, kid. You've been here less than twenty-four hours, and I've lost track of the number of times you've answered me by shrugging your shoulders."

Ryan removed the compress from his eye, placing it on the table. With both hands, he gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He was ready to bolt. He wished that the doors opened out instead of in; every second counted when you were trying to get away.

"So this is the deal. For the remainder of your stay here, I expect you to actually answer me when I ask a question. I don't need a blow by blow description of every detail down to the exact shade of the sky, like Seth would give me, but I want at least a simple yes or no. Capiche?"

Ryan started to nod before catching himself. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, back to my original question. Is that how the fight started?"

"Yes. We tried to leave, but they stopped us, and started to say stuff about me and about Seth. I still hit him first, though. I shouldn't have done that."

"No, you shouldn't have." Sandy reached over and handed the ice bag back to Ryan. "Here, put the ice back on your eye. Kirsten is glaring at me." He waited until Ryan placed it back on his eye. "You should have tried harder to avoid a fight. However, I do realize that is sometimes easier said than done. Bullies like those have been picking on Seth ever since we moved here when he was six."

"Way to ruin my reputation, Dad," Seth interrupted, but Kirsten shushed him, allowing Sandy to continue.

"I can't say as I blame you wanting to knock their lights out. Sometimes, I'm tempted to do the same things to their parents. However, you have got to be more careful, kid. You only got out of juvie yesterday. Until your hearing on Friday, you aren't even technically on parole yet. If the manager had called the cops, you would have been back in juvie so fast your head would still be spinning, and I might not have been able to do anything to help you. I don't want to see that happen. You don't belong in juvie. Try not to let one bad decision land you back there. Okay?"

"Okay," Ryan answered, feeling completely bewildered. That was it? No hitting, no cursing, just talking? He was even more curious than before. Art always said that there were rules to be obeyed and severe consequences for not following them. Didn't these people even know about the rules? What was wrong with them?

It appeared that he had escaped punishment for now, but Ryan was still on edge. He just wanted to go to the seclusion and security of the pool house and try and figure out what was up with this family. He started to ask permission to leave, when he realized that Mr. Cohen was staring at his arm. He had seen the torn shirt sleeve. Ryan couldn't quite read the man's expression, but he certainly didn't look happy.

_Finally, _Ryan thought. He was finally going to get a reaction he could deal with. Strangely, it was almost a relief. Even though he wasn't relishing the thought of another beating, at least he would be used to that. Anger, fury, violence; those things were normal. No more guessing what was going through Mr. Cohen's mind and waiting for the fall out. He just wished the man would hurry up and get it over with. The waiting was getting unnerving. He began to squirm under Sandy's continuous scrutiny. Self-consciously, he put his hand over the tear, pulling the material together. "I'm sorry about your shirt."

Without saying a word, Sandy slowly reached out and removed Ryan's hand from his shoulder. He could see and feel Ryan beginning to tremble. With one hand he pushed up the sleeve, and with the other he raised Ryan's arm, slighting turning it over to better examine the dark, purple, hand-shaped bruise that encompassed Ryan's upper arm. "How did you get this?"

"I...I don't know. I guess it happened when the manager threw us out."

Seth raised his shirt sleeve and inspected his bicep. "I don't think so, dude. That guy grabbed me too, and I don't have a mark on me."

"Seth's right. There is nothing on his arm, and this bruise is more than just a couple of hours old. It had to hurt when you got it. So what happened?"

Ryan glared at Seth. He had enough of his help for one day. Ryan was beginning to panic. He couldn't think straight; couldn't come up with another story about the bruise. He tried to pull his arm back, but Sandy held firm.

"Not five minutes ago, we discussed how I expect you to answer me when I ask something. I don't want to keep repeating myself. How did you get that bruise? And don't tell me you got it falling off your bike. I can make out the shape of someone's fingers."

_I don't want to keep repeating myself_. Ryan had heard that same phrase from Art too many times to not respond. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to say. I already told you I don't remember. It could have happened in juvie, or maybe when I got arrested. I...I just don't know." He tried again to pull his arm back. When Sandy still refused to let go, he whispered a desperate and frightened, "Please."

Sandy knew Ryan was lying to him, but he was unsure what to do. As much as he wanted to stop Ryan from continuing to cover for his stepfather, it was impossible to ignore how scared and intimidated Ryan was of him. It would do no good to keep pushing. Sandy had to remind himself that for right now his main goal was to get Ryan to trust him. If he continued to bully him into answering him, he would only be confirming Ryan's fears.

He let go of Ryan's arm. "Okay, kid. If you say you don't remember, I believe you." Not really knowing what else to do at the moment, Sandy checked the time. "It's getting close to dinner. You better get cleaned up. I'll order some take-out."

"Aren't we going to eat at the fashion show?" Seth asked.

Kirsten and Sandy looked at each other with equally stunned expressions. With everything going on with Ryan, they had completely forgotten about the evening's charity event. Kirsten's eyes darted to Ryan, signaling to Sandy that they now had something else to discuss in regards to Ryan.

"Good point, Seth. I hadn't thought about that. You guys still need to get cleaned up, so you both better get going. I have to discuss some things with your mother."

"Smooth, Dad, real smooth. Ryan and I have no idea that you guys want to talk about him in private."

"Son, would you please try and not make this any more awkward than it already is?"

"Fine, whatever. Come on, Ryan. Let's leave so my folks can _not _talk about you."

Ryan rose from the chair and turned toward the patio doors. "Wait a minute, Ryan." He froze at the sound of Kirsten's voice. "What's all over the back of your shirt?"

He quickly spun around. "Nothing."

"Yes there is. Let me see." She walked over to him, trying to get behind him, but he took a step backwards, pressing himself against the doors. He heard the door latch shut, in his attempt to stop any further examination, he had managed to trap himself.

This was getting too much for Ryan. First his face, then his arm, and now his back. He was used to adults giving him the bruises; not worrying about where about where and how he got them.

"Have you told us everything that happened during the fight?" Kirsten took his arm and gently tried to turn him so she could see. "Ryan, please. I want to see your back."

He sighed and bowed his head, defeated. There was no way out of this one. Ironically, it was Seth who saved him.

"Food."

Both parents looked at Seth. "Excuse me?"

"It's food, from the fight at the restaurant. One of the guys tackled Ryan and knocked over a tray of food on his way down. It was amazing; burgers, fries, chili dogs, you name it. They all went flying through the air. Actually, in retrospect it reminds me of an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants, where he and Squidwards get into a fight at the Krusty Krab." This time Seth heeded Ryan's silent warning. "But that's a story for another time."

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"He's fine, Mom. We walked the entire way home, and he didn't say a word about it. We're men. Tough as nails and all that." Before his father could give him another lecture about answering for Ryan, he quickly said, "Let's go, Ryan. Before I start getting ready for tonight, I'd like to show you some classic comic books that I have stored out in the pool house. Your knowledge in that area is seriously lacking, and I feel that I should take it upon myself to educate you."

Seth nudged Ryan out of the way and opened the door. He positioned himself so that neither parent could see the back of Ryan's shirt. Ryan smiled his gratitude to Seth, forgiving him for his so-called help the other times that afternoon. Maybe Seth wasn't as clueless as he had originally thought.

tbc

**Thank Yous: **I need to thank loracj2, beachtree, finlee, and fifimom for helping me out with questions regarding home security and gated communities. I may have written some things in regards to this incorrectly, but it's how I wanted it to work for the purposes of this story.

Also, for their help in questions regarding the Cohens' household I need to thank 60schic, loracj2, smc36, and beachtree. Big thank yous to Katwoman76 who in helping me gave me pretty pictures of Ryan to look at and Millstone1005 who actually watched a Season 3 episode to try and figure out if Seth had a bathroom in his room (that will come up in chapter 7)


	7. Chapter 7

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- Ryan angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Seven **

Kirsten watched as Seth and Ryan made their way to the pool house. Seth was still making sure to stay behind Ryan, so that he blocked her attempt to see if Ryan was more hurt than he was letting on. Though she was glad her son already had such a strong allegiance with Ryan, it was proving to make her and Sandy's job more difficult in getting Ryan to open up to them. Instead of Seth acting as Ryan's buffer, he should be trying to convince Ryan that they were only there to help and he didn't need to be afraid. Kirsten decided she would have to talk to Seth that evening about needing his help with Ryan.

Kirsten caught a look from Seth before he closed the pool house door. It only confirmed her decision that they would need Seth's help getting Ryan to trust them.

"Well, I am going to have to say that was not one of your son's better performances. I didn't buy that story about the flailing food for one minute."

"Why is he always my son during times likes these? If I remember correctly, you're the one who was pregnant for nine months, not me." Kirsten cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, you're right as usual, about both things. He is definitely my son and I didn't believe that cockamamie story either. What do you want to do about it? Storming out there and demanding they tell us the truth won't get us anywhere."

"No, of course not. I'd say for now we let it drop, but I'm going to speak to Seth about covering for Ryan. And I intend to keep a closer eye on Ryan. I can tell he's trying to hide something from us. I don't like the thought of him being hurt and me not knowing about it."

He reached out to grab her around the waist. "Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy you are when you get all protective?"

She swatted his hands away. "We need to decide what we are going to do with Ryan this evening. He can't very well go with us to the fashion show."

"Why not? He'll be fine. I know these events are a little stuffy, but it's not like the kid doesn't know how to use silverware."

"Sandy, be reasonable. Look at his face. If we take that boy, the Newpsies will be all over him, asking all kinds of questions, about his bruises, his family, why he's staying with us. He's barely spoken ten words to us, and you want to subject him to an evening of Taryn and her crew? You know how they are. Need I remind you that you still hide every time I have a ladies' luncheon?"

"Good point. I hadn't thought of that…Newpsies." He shook his shoulders as if he had gotten a sudden chill. "Ryan will be much better off if we leave him at home tonight."

"By himself?"

Sandy was disappointed. He had thought he and Kirsten were on the same page concerning Ryan. He hoped she had moved beyond her initial distrust of him.

"Don't tell me you still don't trust him? You can't honestly believe he's only here to rob us."

"No, of course not, that much is obvious. If he's too afraid to take our food, I highly doubt he could muster up the courage to steal the television. But he's still a kid in strange surroundings. He's scared and nervous. If we leave him here by himself, he will probably stay holed up in the pool house all night, too worried to leave out of fear that he will do something wrong. Besides, it could be the opportunity we've been waiting for. One of us can stay home and spend some time with him without him having Seth around to talk for him or cover up for him. A few hours alone together could be just the thing for Ryan to feel more comfortable around us."

Sandy kissed the top of her head. "Brains and beauty. Is it any wonder why I love you?" He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a sincere look. "I tell you what. I am willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and be the one to stay at home with Ryan." He started waving his hands, crossing them back and forth in front of his face. "No, no, you don't need to thank me. It's a burden I'm willing to make for the sake of Ryan. But I can't tell you how disappointed I am. I was sooooo looking forward to this evening. I even bought a new tie."

She playfully smacked him on the arm. "Smart-ass. You're lucky I put up with you. Now, I'm going to start getting ready. Why don't you go out there and let Seth know he needs to do the same? You can tell Ryan that you two will be staying at home tonight, and make sure he doesn't think that it's because we're embarrassed to bring him, or that it's some kind of punishment."

"Punishment? Darling, you wound me. I already have the evening all planned out. We are going to eat pizza and watch Stallone movies. I dare say he'll be thrilled when I tell him the good news. You're just jealous because you are going to miss out on all the fun."

"Yes, dear. You're absolutely right. What was I thinking?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she kissed him on the cheek.

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Sandy entered the pool house to find Ryan had changed into a clean shirt. He was sitting on the bed amidst a pile of comic books. Sandy's eyes searched the room for his son. He discovered Seth on his hands and knees rooting through the kitchenette's cabinets.

"Ah ha," Seth shouted, crawling out of the cabinet with a comic raised victoriously in his hand. "I knew it was here somewhere." He paused for a moment, temporarily taken aback at the sight of his father. "Oh hi, Dad. I didn't hear you come in."

"So this is where you keep your stash."

"Keep it down. Don't let Mom know." Seth looked at Ryan. "Occasionally she will get in a mood about not seeing my bedroom floor in weeks. Then…BAM…next thing you know she turns into The Kirsten and threatens to burn every last comic book I own. I would never get over the loss. It would be worse than the time she flushed my pet goldfish after it died. Poor Bubbles, I can still see him going round and round, before heading off to that big fish bowl in the sky. That is the exact moment in time when I decided that Captain Oats was the only pet I ever needed. He's a tried and true friend and doesn't fit down the toilet."

"You know, son, stories like that may be the reason Captain Oats is your closest friend. Why don't you head on into the house? Your mother says it's time to start getting ready, and I need to talk to Ryan."

"Okay." He got up off the floor, dusted off his knees, and skipped down the steps. "Hey, Ryan," he said just as reached the doors, "Whenever Dad is through with you, come on up to my room. It's the first bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs. I need to talk to you more about Summer and my plan to get her to notice me tonight."

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"Wait a minute, Seth." Kirsten said when she heard her son start bounding up the stairs. "I need to talk to you."

"Sorry, Mom, don't have time. I have got to work on my hair. It's a very big evening. You don't think Summer will notice Ryan before me, do you? I mean he's a good looking guy. Not that I notice those kinds of things, of course... I mean whether a guy is good looking or not, because I don't. I just need to make sure Summer's full attention is on her future husband...me."

"I swear between you and your father, I don't know how I get a word in edgewise."

"Oh sorry. You were saying, mother?"

"Your father and I feel it's best if he and Ryan stay home tonight."

"If Ryan doesn't have to go, why do I? Even with the thought of seeing Summer, staying home would be a lot more fun. I hate these events. If you don't want Ryan to stay home alone, I can stay with him, and you and Dad can go. Please?"

"No, Seth, it's already been decided. Your father is staying with Ryan and you're coming with me to the fashion show. Besides, I need to talk to you about Ryan."

"What about? He's great and I really like having him around. Can we keep him?"

"Seth, your father did not rescue Ryan from the local pound." She was clearly exasperated with him. "I need you to be serious for a minute. Has Ryan ever mentioned anything to you about his stepfather?"

"Mom, you may not have noticed it, but the dude barely speaks." Seth could tell he was about to face The Kirsten. "Ok, ok, but I'm serious. He doesn't tell me anything about his life. Oh, wait. He did tell me that his mom died a couple of years ago and that he lives with his stepdad, but that's about it. Oh wait; he did mention something about his mom having a lot of boyfriends before marrying this Art guy. Why are you asking me this stuff?"

"Well..." Kirsten was weighing just how much they should tell Seth about their suspicions. "Your father and I are worried about Ryan's relationship with this stepdad. We realize he hasn't even been here a whole day yet, but Ryan hasn't called to check in with him, and his stepfather hasn't called here to see if he is all right. We're not sure if Ryan got kicked out or left on his own accord, but the very fact that Ryan is staying with us should be a major source of concern for him." She paused still wondering how much information to indulge. She decided that Seth needed to know the truth about what they had learned, or at least part of the truth. If she expected him to help them, he would have to know more about what they were dealing with. "Seth, have you noticed that Ryan seems a bit...skittish around your father?"

"Boy, have I ever. He tried to hide it, but I could tell he was scared that Dad was really going to yell at him about ripping his shirt sleeve. He even asked me what Dad was like when he was mad."

"What did you tell him?"

"You know, that he liked to talk a lot and give hour long lectures, but to watch out when he got really mad. I believe I might have compared Dad to a certain dragon-like Japan invading monster."

"How did Ryan react to that news?"

Seth rolled his head back, trying to remember back to that afternoon. "You know, now that you mention it, he did start looking a little sick again. I just thought he was getting seasick again. What are you trying to get at? Is there something wrong with his stepdad?"

"We don't really know anything yet. Truthfully, we have our doubts that he is the best person to care for Ryan. We think that his mother may have had some nasty boyfriends that may have caused Ryan to start not trusting adults. That's why your father is staying at home with him tonight. We are hoping Ryan can start relaxing around him a bit more. So stop with the Godzilla references. And another thing, we want him to start opening up to us, but Ryan won't do that if don't stop answering for him. He needs to start speaking for himself. And as much as I could tell he appreciated you covering for him this afternoon, you need to stop that, too. If Ryan is hurt, we need to know. It's very important."

"Okay." Seth strongly debated telling his mom about Ryan's back. But he remembered how upset Ryan became when he mentioned it, and how relieved he was when Seth came up with the food story. He didn't think Ryan was hurt that badly, but if he noticed anything else, he would tell his parents later. " Are we done?"

"Well, you could try telling him what great parents we are and how you can talk to us about anything."

"Do you have any idea how lame that would make me sound?"

"Fine, you don't have to lay it on so thick. Just try and make him understand that he can trust us."

"Got it. I can totally handle that. No problem. Can I start getting ready now?"

"Yes, sweetie, but think about everything I just said."

Seth slowly walked up the stairs, heeding his mother's request and letting her words sink in. He got the definite impression that there was something more about Ryan and his stepdad that his parents weren't telling him. He didn't know what it was, but he was determined to find out.

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Sandy waited until Seth was in the house before turning his full attention to Ryan. He ran his hand over his jaw line, trying to think of how to start. It was an odd feeling, this being unsure of what to say. Noticing Ryan's anxiety, he decided to sit down in the wicker chair by the door, in hopes that it would give a less menacing impression.

"So, kid." He let out a long slow breath and ran his hands down his legs, gripping his knees and slightly leaned in toward Ryan.

"I...I'm sorry."

Sandy frowned, taking note of the gleam of perspiration on the boy's forehead. It was only emphasized by the fact that his face had suddenly turned two shades paler. "About what?"

"I don't know." Ryan answered, bewildered. "I just figured you were mad at me about something I did wrong."

"No, Ryan, you haven't done anything wrong." Sandy's voice took on the same tired quality that seemed to occur every time he was faced with Ryan's insecurities. "I just wanted to talk to you about tonight."

"Its okay, Mr. Cohen. I know I can't go tonight. It was Seth's idea that I come along. I never expected you take to me to some fancy party. We all know I wouldn't fit in. I don't belong with people like that."

"I don't want to hear you talk like that. You fit in as well as anyone, kid, probably more than me. However, as you found out this afternoon, the folks around here don't exactly offer the warmest of greetings to outsiders. If you went, you would have a miserable time, and we don't want that. However, Mrs. Cohen and I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here by yourself either."

Ryan was crestfallen. He had held on to a small bit of hope that he would be allowed to stay at the house while the Cohens went to their party. It would have been the perfect opportunity for him to explore the entire house. But now, from the way Mr. Cohen was talking, he guessed they were going to ask him to leave. It was kind of funny; he was here to rob them, but it hurt to think they didn't trust him..

"I get it. I wouldn't let some kid I met straight out of Juvie stay alone in my house either. I'll just change into my own clothes and be on my way. Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it." He stood up to leave

Sandy put out his hand as if to stop him. "No, Ryan. You didn't let me finish. We don't want you to go. I thought I could stay at home with you."

"I can't let you do that." Ryan took a step back. "You shouldn't miss your party. You need to be with your family, instead of being stuck babysitting me."

"Trust me, kid, skipping one of Newport's charity events doesn't bother me in the slightest. In fact, I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse to miss it. Besides, we have one of these things every week. Why next Friday, I already know that I'm stuck going to Vegas Night or Casino Night or whatever they decide to call it. Actually, the more I think about it, it's almost a vacation."

"So you're not mad at me?" Ryan asked, looking shocked and relieved.

"Of course not." Sandy decided to use the opportunity to question him about Art. "Why do you ask? Does your stepfather get mad at you a lot?"

There was an instant change in Ryan's demeanor. He started to fidget, and was obviously much more tense than just a minute before.

"I don't know... I guess...sometimes...why?"

"You seem to spend an awful lot of time worrying that I might be angry with you. I was just trying to figure out why."

"You were nice enough to let me crash here when a lot of other people wouldn't have bothered. I don't want to push my luck. I've already been kicked out once this weekend."

Sandy's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I thought you said that were the one who took off. You told me you just needed some space."

"I did. I...I do," Ryan stuttered. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid to be caught in another lie. He had to start being more careful. Mr. Cohen's rule about answering him was bound to lead to more screw-ups. "I didn't mean it like that. Art has been really good to me."

"I'm sure he has." Sandy could barely contain the disdain from his voice.

"Yeah. Um...can I go see Seth now, before he leaves?"

The slight window of opportunity had been slammed shut. Sandy vowed that he would make more of an effort to talk to Ryan throughout the evening. "Sure, kid. We'll talk more later."

Ryan looked nervous at that prospect, but managed a small smile. "Okay. Thanks."

Sandy frowned as he watched Ryan practically sprint out the door. He hadn't expected Ryan to immediately confess that his stepfather was abusing him, but he hadn't known it would be this much of an effort to get the kid to at least stay in the same room with him for ten minutes. He had a lot of work to do tonight.

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Ryan knocked on Seth's door, before pushing it open a few inches.

"Come on in, man. I'm just finishing getting dressed. I'll be out in a minute." Seth's voice came from behind his bathroom door.

Ryan stepped into Seth's room. It was the first time he had been in it. He looked around taking in the computer and the stereo. He wondered if there was an electronic device on the planet that Seth didn't have in his bedroom.

He supposed that it was out of force of habit that his eyes were instantly drawn to the money lying on the top of the dresser. It must have been the change from today's lunch. Ryan had to laugh to himself. He was sure it hadn't even occurred to Seth to give his parents back the money. He was about to walk further into the room, when he noticed Seth's alarm key to the house half hidden underneath a ten dollar bill. Ryan reached down and picked it up. He held it loosely in his hand, turning it over a couple of times.

He couldn't believe it. Nothing in his life had ever gone as smoothly as things had since Mr. Cohen had picked him up the night before. Maybe his life was finally going to make a turn for the better. It was almost as if he was meant to find the alarm key. But if that was true, why did he feel so rotten? He'd been really pissed when Seth had blabbed about the fight, and then didn't back his story about how he got the bruise on his arm, but Seth had covered for him when it really mattered. He had managed to distract his parents long enough for him to get out the house without any more questions.

Ryan almost put the alarm key back where he found it. It just felt so wrong, to keep using Seth this way. Then he realized what he was doing. Art always said he was too soft. He didn't know how much time he had left here. The Cohens may be planning on sending him back to Chino in the morning. He didn't have time to waste feeling guilty. Nothing should be holding him back from completing Art's plan. After all, he didn't really owe Seth anything. He pocketed the key alarm with the intention of hiding it in his leather coat later. However, in the back of his mind, he was already thinking of ways to keep Art from going upstairs and away from Seth's room.

"Hey, wat'cha doing?" Seth came out of the bathroom straightening his tie.

"Nothing," Ryan said a little too quickly. "So, I guess you have to go to this thing with your mom by yourself. Your dad and I are staying here."

"Yeah. Mom already told me. Too bad. It would have been cool to have someone to talk to besides the eleven year olds I give sailing lessons to."

"So why go? Why don't you just stay home tonight?"

Seth thought that it was a pretty good question. After all, he had asked his mom the same thing. Luckily, Seth came up with a completely believable excuse. "Summer, of course. Summer will be there. How am I ever going to get on her radar if she never sees me?"

"Aren't you afraid of running into those guys from the diner?"

"Nah, they won't do anything in front of their parents. Besides, just seeing Summer across a crowded room is worth any risk."

"I've never met a girl that was worth getting my ass kicked over."

"That, my friend, is because you have never seen the glory that is Summer Roberts."

The boys heard Kirsten's voice coming from the bottom of the steps, telling Seth that it was time to leave. He decided now was as good as time as any to talk to Ryan about his dad.

"Listen, just because I'm not staying home doesn't mean that you still can't have a decent time here with my dad. He's pretty cool and all...for a dad. I mean, I don't really mind hanging out with him sometimes. Not that I spend all my free time hanging out with my parents. I am not that big of a loser. I'm just saying I have always felt like I could talk to my dad about, you know…stuff. Do you know what I mean?"

Ryan didn't respond. His eyebrows were raised and the right side of his mouth was slightly turned up. He looked completely confused.

"Okay, I guess not. How about this? I know before you kind of freaked out about my dad being all uptight and getting mad, but I think I proved in the kitchen that's just not him. I don't want you to think that I'm ditching you for a girl and sticking you with some cranky old guy that's going to yell at you if you get crumbs on the floor. You and Dad will be fine tonight. Don't sweat it."

"Sure, Seth, whatever you say." Ryan followed Seth down the stairs. He was trying to figure out what exactly what Seth had been trying to get at. He couldn't come up with anything, but that wasn't unusual. Honestly, he didn't know what Seth was talking about half the time. He changed his focus to spending the entire evening alone with Mr. Cohen.

He was completely different than any other man Ryan had met in his past. He wasn't at all like any of his mom's boyfriends, or Art for that matter. Ryan had done all sorts of things wrong since coming here, and Mr. Cohen hadn't even raised his voice yet. In fact, he seemed to worry a lot about how Ryan got hurt. He still couldn't figure that one out. The only rationalization that Ryan could come up with was that he was waiting for a time when no one else was around. Besides the car ride from Chino, there hadn't been a time where Mrs. Cohen or Seth weren't around or at least fairly close by. One of his mom's boyfriends had been like that. He had never hit Ryan in front of Dawn. She never believed it when Ryan tried to tell her that he was no better than the rest. No matter what Seth said about his father, Ryan still didn't trust him. He wasn't about to try the man's patience any more than he already had. He had every intention of spending the evening hiding out in the pool house.

He was halfway out the patio door when Sandy walked in the kitchen carrying a pizza box and a plastic sack from the Movie Palace.

"Hey, kid. Where ya going? Dinner just got here. I figured there wasn't a teenager alive who didn't like pizza. I didn't know what you wanted on it though. So I just went with the old tried and true favorite of pepperoni. That okay with you?"

Ryan couldn't stop the grin that formed on his face. Pizza had been his favorite thing to eat, before Art had come along. "Yeah, it's great. I used to love pizza."

That remark caused Sandy to frown again. "Used to? When was the last time you had any?"

_Shit!_ What was it about Mr. Cohen that kept making him slip up?

"It's been a while. We don't have a lot of money. Art always says that fast food costs too much."

"Really? We eat out or get take out all the time. My wife has many talents, but cooking is definitely not one of them. I figured a couple of single guys, like yourselves, would do the same. What do you do for meals? Don't tell me you cook as well as do the dishes and the laundry." Seeing Ryan's look of confusion Sandy explained, "Kirsten told me that you washed your clothes this morning."

"I can cook, some. My mom didn't feel well most of the time. I kind of had to teach myself, but I don't do that anymore."

"So what _do _you eat?"

"Anything that comes out of a can, dry cereal, and a lot of Ramen noodles."

Sandy had only seen Art for a few minutes, but he guessed the man to be at six foot two and at least two hundred twenty five pounds. There was no way that man was surviving on freeze dried noodles.

"Doesn't sound very appetizing or nutritious."

"It's better than nothing," Ryan muttered.

Sandy was about to question him further when he noticed the way Ryan was eyeing the pizza box. He was practically drooling.

"Well, tonight you are going to dine on the best pizza Newport has to offer." Sandy grabbed a couple of plates, putting two slices of pizza on each. "Here you go, kid. I thought we could eat in the living room. I picked up a couple of Stallone movies to watch while we eat. Why don't you pop one in while I go grab us a couple of drinks?"

Sandy grabbed the drinks from the fridge and walked back in the living room to find Ryan sitting in the chair. He wondered if Ryan had picked that particular spot because it was closest to the doors, and because that way there was no way Sandy could sit anywhere near him.

Sandy tossed him a bottle of soda. "One soda for you and one beer for me."

Sandy plopped on the couch and started taking the cap off. He looked at Ryan to ask him which movie he picked. The look on the boy's face stopped him cold. He was staring at the bottle of beer in Sandy's hand. His eyes were wide with fright. He sat perfectly still; his only movement was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was biting on his lower lip, completely oblivious to the fact that he was chewing off the scab that had begun to form.

"You know, on second thought," Sandy began, standing up and going back toward the kitchen. "I think I'll just have a soda too. I don't want Kirsten to think I'm getting a beer gut."

Sandy was rewarded with a smile from Ryan. With his anxiety gone for the moment, Ryan picked up his first slice of pizza, almost putting half of it in his mouth with the first bite.

Sandy laughed. "I guess I should have ordered the extra-large."

An hour and a half later, Sandy was still sitting on the couch quite pleased with himself and grinning ear to ear. He hadn't just gotten Ryan to eat; the kid had practically eaten everything in sight. He had gone through the rest of pizza within minutes, then he ate a large bag of chips, and was currently finishing off a bowl of popcorn.

Catching Sandy looking at him, Ryan paused mid-bite. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not. I'm just sitting here thinking how happy I am to be here with you instead of that boring party."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie about something as important as a missing a Newpsie event."

"Seth mentioned them earlier. What's a Newpsie?"

"They're like vultures, except the Newpsies like to paint their talons. Actually, they prefer someone else to paint them."

"Okay." Ryan still didn't know what a Newpsie was, but he didn't think it mattered enough to keep asking any more questions about them. Mr. Cohen seemed to be in a really good mood. Ryan didn't want to spoil it by pestering him with stupid questions.

"So," Sandy said, leaning back on the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table. "I never got to ask you before. How was hanging out with Seth today? I know he's different than a lot of other kids your age, but he's a really interesting kid if you get to know him."

"It was okay. Seth's cool."

"Cool, huh?" Sandy knew it was wishful thinking, but he really liked the idea of the two boys forming a friendship. He thought it could be good for the both of them. Although it was too soon to be thinking of that now. Considering what he already knew about Ryan's life, and what he planned on doing with that information, where the boy would even be in a few days was uncertain.

"I've been thinking. What do you say we play some of Seth's video games? When Seth's around, he barely lets me touch them. He says I'm not a worthy enough opponent for such a master as himself."

"Sure." Ryan went over to Seth's collection of games and started sorting through them, deliberately skipping over the Grand Theft Auto Game. No sense reminding Mr. Cohen of that. After deciding on a game that he and Seth had played earlier that morning, he put the cartridge in the machine, grabbed the controllers and turned around. He eyed the chair he had been sitting in all evening. There was no way the controller would stretch to it. He would have to sit next to Mr. Cohen on the couch. He remembered back to what Seth had said earlier about his dad being okay and all. However, Ryan still couldn't let himself trust the man. It was one thing to hang out with him in the same room and watch a movie, but to sit within arm's reach? That was practically like asking to get hit. But there really wasn't any other choice. He had already agreed to play the stupid game, and he couldn't think of a way out of it now. Ryan took a seat next to Sandy on the couch, making sure to sit on the very edge of the farthest cushion.

This move did not go unnoticed by Sandy. He tried to put the boy at ease by asking questions about the game that had just started.

"Okay, so am I the guy in red or the black pajamas?"

"Red, and they're not in pajamas, they're ninjas."

"See, I told you I needed to practice. Seth won't explain anything to me. He just starts on some tirade about my generation never understanding the importance of video games. I hate to break it to him, but my generation is what made video games the phenomenon they are today."

"Um, Mr. Cohen, you just stabbed me and we're on the same side."

"Oh sorry. I'll pay more attention next time."

After six games, Sandy once again found himself feeling proud of his accomplishment with Ryan. First he had succeeded in getting Ryan to eat, and now the kid was so engrossed in teaching him how to win at the latest video game, he hadn't even noticed that he was sitting right next to Sandy. While Sandy was thinking about how nice it was to see Ryan actually act his age for once, he failed to hear the sounds coming from the television that signaled the end of another game.

"Oh, is it over? How'd I do this time? I really think I'm improving."

Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Hey, that last game it took me fifteen whole minutes to die. Let's try another one. I'll let you pick again. I can't tell one from the other."

Ryan stood and once again started flipping through the games. Sandy decided that it was time to take a chance and bring up Art again.

"You probably already figured out that Seth is pretty much a home-body. Most nights that we don't have social events, it's just the three of us hanging out here at home. I feel bad about Seth not having more friends than he does, but I have to admit I really enjoy being able to spend that much time with my family. My dad wasn't around much when I was a kid and I always vowed that things would be different when I had a family of my own."

Ryan nodded while continuing to find another game, not sure where the conversation was headed.

"So what about you and your stepfather, Art? Do you spend much time together?"

At the mention of Art's name, Ryan dropped the stack of video games he had been holding. "I'm sorry." He bent over and started gathering them in a pile. When he had them all picked up, he paused a moment before standing. Glancing over at Sandy, he quietly answered the question. "No, we don't. I mean...you know... like you said, he's my stepdad. It's not like I'm his real kid. He just got stuck with me."

"Is that what he says?"

"Yeah, but its okay. I don't mind. Besides he's really busy, and doesn't need me bothering him." Ryan turned to Sandy and held up a cartridge with some sort of alien on it. "How about this one?"

It was on the tip of Sandy's tongue to question Ryan as to what Art was so busy doing, but he didn't. Originally, he had intended to use this evening to pump Ryan for more information on his life with Art. But after spending time with him and finally seeing the boy start to relax around him, Sandy decided the night would be better spent letting Ryan continue to have a little fun. Sandy hoped by letting him be for now, he was laying the groundwork to gain Ryan's trust.

"Sure, maybe this one is more suited to my level of skill."

Surprisingly, Sandy had been right. With the latest game, he had finally found his niche and had managed to hold his own for the majority of the game. It was down to the final battle, and both Sandy and Ryan were giving it all they had. With one final swing of a laser Sandy annihilated Ryan's alien.

"Yes!" Sandy exclaimed in victory. He turned to slap Ryan a high-five. Instead of returning the gesture, Ryan jumped off the couch, stumbling backwards. Sandy reached out to steady him.

"No, I'm sorry." Ryan put his arm in front of his face.

Sandy had never felt so sick in his entire life. "Oh, kid," he said sadly. "I'm not going to hit you."

Ryan slowly lowered his arm, but it was obvious he didn't trust Sandy.

"I know you don't believe me, but not all men hit."

"Yeah, right." Ryan muttered, slowly inching his way closer to the patio doors, closer to freedom.

"Ryan, we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about, Mr. Cohen." He had managed to make it to the door and opened it. "If it's okay, I'd like to go to bed now. I'm kind of tired." Without waiting for an answer he shut the door and quickly made his way toward the pool house.

Sandy rushed after him, but stopped halfway there. Through the glass doors of the pool house, Sandy could see Ryan standing by the bed. His arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. Ryan was staring straight ahead at Sandy, watching his every move. Even from that distance, Sandy could see the terror in his eyes.

"Damn it!" Sandy swore. He wanted to pick up the patio furniture and throw it into the pool in frustration, but he restrained himself, realizing that was the last thing Ryan needed to see from him. If he saw anger, it would just be worse. Instead he nodded his head in the direction of the pool house, and slowly turned and walked back to the main house.

He had been making real progress with Ryan, and one stupid move had sent him back to square one. He never wanted to see that look on the boy's face again. Despite his years of working with abused kids, despite his suspicions, even despite the file that did nothing but point to abuse, Sandy had still held on to the tiniest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, Ryan's life wasn't as bad as he had feared.

But Ryan had just unwittingly confirmed Sandy's worst fears and answered every unasked question. Now that Sandy had the answers he had set out to find, he didn't know what to do with them. He went back to the spot on the couch where just a few minutes ago, he and Ryan had been having a nice, normal evening. He sat down heavily, feeling completely and utterly defeated, resting his head in his hands.

Kirsten found him in that exact position an hour later when she and Seth came home. She sent Seth up to his room and crouched down on the floor in front of him.

"Honey, what's wrong? What happened?"

He looked up at her; the sadness etched on his features almost took her breath away. He shook his head. "I just don't know, honey, I don't know what to do." He paused and continued with fierce determination, "But I do know this. There is no way in hell that kid is going back to Chino and back to that bastard he calls a stepfather come Monday morning."

Tbc

**Thank You: **I need to thank loracj2, beachtree, finlee, and fifimom for helping me out with questions regarding home security and gated communities. I may have written some things in regards to this incorrectly, but it's how I wanted it to work for the purposes of this story.

Also, for their help in questions regarding the Cohens' household I need to thank 60schic, loracj2, smc36, and beachtree. Big thank yous to Katwoman76 who in helping me gave me pretty pictures of Ryan to look at and Millstone1005 who actually watched a Season 3 episode to try and figure out if Seth had a bathroom in his room.


	8. Chapter 8

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- very minor swearing and of course...Ryan angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Note: **Big hug to katwoman for helping with my writer's block. If she hadn't given my muses a good hard kick in the fanny, I would have given up after the first scene of this chapter.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Eight**

Ryan sat in the dark pool house watching the lights of the main house. It had been over two hours since Kirsten and Seth had arrived home. She and Sandy hadn't moved from the living room in all that time. They sat huddled together, deep in conversation. From his view point on the bed, he could see them occasionally looking up and casting glances his way. He supposed he should be glad that they were just talking. Up until an hour and a half ago, he still feared that Sandy would be making an unwelcome visit to the pool house. He twisted his wrist cuff nervously, trying to figure out what he could have done that would merit such a lengthy conversationHe knew one thing for certain though, he had to leave...tonight. It was becoming too big of a risk to stay. He would wait until the Cohens went to bed and then sneak out.

For all Ryan knew, the Cohens were discussing taking him back to Chino in the morning. But he couldn't take that chance. The way Ryan saw it; there was simply no need to stick around any longer. He had everything he needed to complete the job. He knew the layout of the house. He knew the Cohens would be gone Friday night. And most importantly, thanks to Seth, he knew how to get in the house without tripping the alarm. For once, Art would be pleased.

Right after Ryan had escaped to the pool house, he decided it would be best if he left that night, when everyone was asleep. It would just be easier that way. There would be no awkward goodbyes, and he wouldn't have to thank them for everything they had done for him. He couldn't imagine having to face them one last time, knowing he would be back, only to steal from them.

While he waited, his mind kept wandering back to the past day and a half. He thought of how kind Mrs. Cohen had been to him. She seemed so genuinely concerned about his cuts and bruises. Ryan couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like had his own mother ever shown him the same amount of concern.

Then there was Seth. Seth was different, no doubt about it. However, Ryan really liked him, and knew it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he had no other friends. Ryan knew that probably every other rich kid in this town would have been pissed if their father had brought home some delinquent from Chino, but not Seth. Hanging out with Seth that afternoon had been a lot of fun; he couldn't remember ever enjoying himself that much…ever.

Mr. Cohen was a whole other story. Ryan couldn't get a handle on the man. One minute Ryan was scared to death of him, and the next he was actually tempted to tell him the truth about his life. It had to be all those damn questions he kept asking him. The only other person who had ever asked him that many questions was the social worker back in Fresno, and that guy had only been doing his job. At times, Ryan almost believed that Mr. Cohen cared about him. But that just couldn't be possible. Look at what happened tonight. Ryan had let his guard down just a little bit, and Mr. Cohen had almost hit him. He thought...well, maybe...at least he could have...but he didn't.

Ryan shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It was crazy, stupid ideas like those that made him realize he had to get out of here and fast. So Ryan sat...and he watched...and he waited...and he waited.

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Ryan never heard Kirsten's soft knock on the pool house door the next morning. He had fought to stay awake, but the stress of the evening had taken its toll on his already battered body. Sometime after two in the morning, he lost the battle and let his body succumb to its need for sleep.

Kirsten knocked again, this time calling out his name. She waited outside for a moment, unsure of what to do next. It may be her house, but she felt that Ryan still deserved a certain amount of privacy. Finally, after it was obvious that she wasn't going to receive a response, she slowly opened the door, this time saying his name a bit louder.

At the click of the door opening, Ryan instantly awoke. Still half-asleep, he frantically pushed himself against the headboard, ignoring the pain the pressure caused his back. He looked around frantically, trying to remember where he was.

"I'm...I'm sorry," he apologized to no one in particular. Art only had to wake Ryan up one time before he learned that sleeping late was a luxury he could never afford.

Kirsten sat on the bed. "Ryan," she said, trying to sound calm despite her racing heart. "It's okay. It's just me."

"Mrs. Cohen?" He asked, slowly remembering that he was in her home. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have," he took a deep breath hoping to settle his nerves. "I'm sorry I slept in so late."

Kirsten smiled sadly at him. "That's okay, Ryan. I should be apologizing to you. I didn't mean to wake you." Now that he had started to calm down, Kirsten took in the appearance of Ryan and the bed. "Ryan," she began hesitantly. "Why did you sleep on top of the covers, and in your clothes? You didn't even take off your shoes."

He quickly swung his legs off the side of the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have my shoes on the bedspread. I probably got it dirty. It was a stupid careless thing to do."

"They're just sheets. They can be washed. I just want to know why you're already dressed and in your own clothes? Were you planning on going somewhere?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean, I kind of figured that Mr. Cohen would be taking me back to Chino this morning, and I didn't want him to have to wait for me to get ready." He answered, hoping it sounded like a reasonable excuse, all the while cursing himself for falling asleep in the first place.

Kirsten had always prided herself on knowing when she was being told a lie. It was a quality that came in very handy being a woman in business and being Seth's mother. So although she knew Ryan was lying to her, she acted as though she didn't.

"Well that's very considerate of you, but it wasn't necessary. Mr. Cohen and I have been talking, and we think it's best if you spend another night here with us."

"Oh no, I couldn't. You've done more than enough already."

"Nonsense. We've all enjoyed having you here. I don't want to hear any more arguments. Besides, it won't do you any good; it's already been decided."

"All right, I guess, if you say so," he said, fidgeting with is wrist cuff. "Thank you."

She smiled, patted her knees and quickly stood. "Good. I'll see you inside." Suddenly she paused. Frowning, she looked at him closer. She hadn't noticed before, but Ryan looked feverish. "Ryan, are you feeling all right?" She reached out to put her hand to his forehead. He flinched and jerked away from her. She pulled her hand back, thinking of the heartbreaking story Sandy had told her last night. But that was Sandy. She did nothing different than when she had tended to his cuts and bruises the night he arrived, or after the fight at the diner the day before. He hadn't seemed to be afraid of her then. Of course, she realized. The other times, he had always known what she was about to do. She had never before reached out to touch him without him first knowing.

"You look a little flushed. I just want to feel your forehead to see if you have a temperature."

He sat in silence as she ran the back of her hand over his forehead and cheeks, amazed at the gentleness of her touch.

"You feel a little warm. You might be getting sick. One of the neighbors is a doctor, perhaps I should call her."

"No!"

Kirsten jumped at his vehement refusal.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I just meant that I'm okay, really. You don't want to bother your neighbor on a Sunday. I probably got too hot sleeping in this sweatshirt." He pulled at the grey material. "After I take a shower, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure, I'll hold off calling the doctor. But didn't you already take a shower this morning, the first time you woke up?"

How did these people keep making him slip up? "Um, I did, but since I fell asleep, I'd like to take another one. You know, to wake up again. Is that okay?"

Another lie.

"Of course it is, Ryan. I'll see you in a few minutes." She turned to leave. "Oh. I almost forgot why I came out here in the first place. I'm cooking breakfast this morning. Would you like anything in particular?"

"No, anything is fine." He looked at her questioningly. "I thought Seth and Mr. Cohen said you didn't know how to cook."

"Oh really?" Kirsten had a devilish grin on her face. "Well, don't tell them, but that little remark has earned the two of them extra helpings." With that, she walked back toward the kitchen.

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Forgetting about the welts on his back, Ryan flopped back on the bed in frustration and exhaustion. As soon as he hit the sheets he hissed in pain, and pushed himself up on his elbows. This family was going to drive him nuts. He just didn't know what to make of them. Ryan figured he better play it safe and stick close to Seth the entire day. Ryan hoped that Seth's need to be the center of attention would take the spotlight off of him until he could safely make his getaway later that evening.

In the bathroom Ryan adjusted the water until it was barely lukewarm. He would have preferred a hot shower, but he was trying to lower his temperature. He took off his wifebeater and surveyed his back once more. The gashes that had been red the previous morning had turned to a deep shade of crimson. He winced as he gingerly touched a welt high on his shoulder.

"Damn infection," he muttered, knowing it was to blame for his fever. He opened the mirror above the vanity and rummaged through its contents until he found the Tylenol. He read the instructions on the back of the bottle and took the entire day's recommended dosage. He hoped the pills would have time to take effect before he saw Mrs. Cohen again.

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Ryan stood outside the patio doors, staring at Sandy, who was sitting directly in front of Ryan at the kitchen table. His back was facing Ryan, and if he knew he was being watched he gave no inclination. Every so often he would turn the page of the morning's paper that he was reading, occasionally taking a long sip of coffee from an oversized mug. Ryan was more than a little nervous about seeing him for the first time after last night's experience. Granted, the man had the chance to hit and hadn't, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be mad at Ryan for running and hiding in the pool house. He wished there was a way to enter the kitchen without having to walk within arms reach of the man.

"Mom, you are way too close to the stove. Please step away at least another 10 feet."

The sound of Seth's voice filtered through the glass doors. Ryan smiled; instantly feeling himself relax knowing that Seth and Kirsten were in the room. Seth didn't seem to be scared of his dad at all. That had to mean something. Ryan knew better than to believe that Sandy never lost his temper, but maybe it wouldn't be too bad when it finally did happen. Mrs. Cohen was also a definite plus. Even though his own mother had never once so much as lifted a finger to help Ryan, he felt safer with Kirsten around. She had a quiet strength about her. Ryan was willing to bet money that Mr. Cohen had never laid a hand on her. Ryan got the impression that he would have to do something really stupid for Mr. Cohen to hit him in front of her.

As he opened the door to the kitchen, Sandy lowered his paper and turned toward Ryan. "Good morning, Ryan." He greeted the nervous boy, trying to sound casual. "Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Yes, thank you." Ryan bowed his head and quickly walked away from the table.

"Oh good, Ryan, you're here." Kirsten put the spatula down and started looking for something in the pocket of her robe.

"Buddy, I'm so glad to see you!" Seth exclaimed. "Way to be a diversionary tactic for Mom. Get her attention away from the food. Good plan."

"You do realize that I'm standing right here, don't you and that I can hear every word your saying?"

"Of course I do, Mother. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, forget it." She shook her head. "Here it is." Kirsten pulled a thermometer out of the pinstriped pocket. "Ryan, sit down and put this in your mouth."

Ryan backed up, pointing at the object in her hand. "What is that?"

"It's a thermometer. I want to take your temperature."

"Good thinking again, my man. You are on the ball this morning. Pretend you're sick _before _you eat Mom's cooking." Seth slapped his forehead. "Why didn't I ever think of that?"

"You know, son," Sandy said rising from the table and placing an arm around his only child's shoulders. "There was a time when you were a baby, when your Mother and I spent countless hours encouraging you to talk." He shook his head in mock frustration. "What _were_ we thinking?"

"Do you two mind?" Kirsten turned back to Ryan. "It's nothing to be scared of. I promise. Haven't you ever had your temperature taken before?"

"Back in Fresno, when I still went to school, a couple of times the nurses there took my temperature. But it didn't look anything like that. It was glass." Ryan caught the look Sandy and Kirsten gave each other, and he realized what he had said. "I mean when I still went to school in Fresno. I haven't had to see the school nurse now that I'm in Chino." It wasn't technically a lie. He hadn't seen the nurses in Chino, or the school for that matter.

Kirsten motioned for Ryan to take a seat again. "This one is plastic and it's digital. Now sit."

Ryan did as he was told and Kirsten promptly placed it in his mouth.

"Dude, a mercury thermometer? How archaic. Someone should have told those people to get out of the stone age."

"Seth, hush. I won't be able to hear it beep if you keep talking."

"Beep," questioned Ryan nervously. He began to squirm in the chair. "Why would it beep?"

"To let me know it's ready to be read. Now no more talking. You need to keep your mouth closed so I can get an accurate reading."

"Wow. I bet that's the first time anyone's ever told Ryan _not _to talk."

"Shhh!"

"Okay, okay," muttered Seth.

After what seemed like a very long minute to Ryan, the thermometer started beeping. Kirsten read the results with a slight frown. "Hmm, not too bad. It's a little high, but nothing to be concerned about, yet. I still think we need to keep an eye on you. Sandy, remind me to take his temperature again later this afternoon."

Ryan was glad he had thought to put more Tylenol in his pocket. Just then, he noticed a dark cloud of smoke rising from the stove top. "Mrs. Cohen, I think something's burning."

"My omelets!" She rushed over to the already ruined eggs waving a dish towel in the air to clear the smoke.

Seth began to open his mouth, but Sandy cut him off. "I wouldn't if I were you. I don't think your mother is up to the Cohen wit at this particular moment."

"I'd be happy to cook breakfast for you guys. I could feel like I was paying you back for being so nice to me."

"That's very thoughtful of you Ryan, but not necessary."

"Mom, let Ryan make breakfast. You work so hard all week. You shouldn't have to slave over a hot stove on your day off. I'll even help. You are always lecturing me about doing more around the house. How about it? Please?"

"Oh, all right. I'll let the two of you cook breakfast, but only if Ryan really wants to."

"Thanks. I would like to."

"Okay then, I'm going to go get dressed. I look forward to whatever you make, Ryan." As she left the room she looked at Sandy and motioned for him to follow her. Before Sandy had time to move, Seth was already pushing him out of the kitchen.

"Dad, why don't you go read the paper in the other room? The couch is certainly more comfy than these kitchen chairs."

Sandy folded the paper and placed it on the kitchen table. "I appreciate your concern for my comfort, but I think I'll go shave instead. See you boys in a few minutes."

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"Thank goodness. I never thought they'd leave. We need some serious Seth/Ryan time."

"Seth/Ryan time?"

"Yes, that's what I've decided to call our little chats."

"O…kay." Ryan answered. He liked Seth, but he did take some getting use to. "Can you tell me where the skillets are and then look in the fridge to see what's in there?"

"Ummm, when I said I'd help, I meant in a supervisory type of way. Don't get me wrong, I am eternally grateful for you for getting my mom out of the kitchen, but under no circumstance am I willing to be reduced to performing menial household chores." Seth jumped up on the kitchen counter. "Now, on to the topic of this morning's conversation. Aren't you even going to ask me how my evening went? Because my friend, I have news...big, big news."

Ryan opened the refrigerator door. "So I take it you saw that Summer girl."

"Saw? Ryan, that is not even the half of it. She spoke to me. Her voice is not unlike the dulcet tone of an angel. I digress. I really should start at the beginning."

Ryan hit Seth in the knee. Seth glared at him, while Ryan motioned him to move over. Seth muttered a quick sorry and scooted to the corner of the counter. Ryan crouched down and started going through the cabinets in search of anything he thought he might need.

Seth held on the edge of the counter and leaned over. "Can you hear me with your head stuck in the cabinet like that?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Anyway, I was standing behind Summer in line to get a drink. She smells wonderful. Not too flowery like some girls."

"Seth, please tell me you weren't like, sniffing her."

"No. I was completely stealth. Well, that is until I accidentally knocked into her and made her spill her drink on me."

"That sounds smooth."

"I couldn't help it. She turned around and she was wearing this little black dress that was cut down to here." He pointed to his lower chest. "And I kind of blacked out for a minute. But it was the best thing that could have happened, because after she spilled her drink she said...wait for it..." Seth put his palm out, pausing for a dramatic effect. "Excuse me, Steve."

"You do realize your name is Seth, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I can't believe you don't see the significance of that statement."

Ryan looked at him blankly.

"Dude, we totally have pet names for each other already. Well, at least she has a name for me. I'm still working on hers. I'd like to think of something that rhymes with her name, but the only thing I can come up with is bummer and dumber."

"Uh, I wouldn't use either one of those. Don't you think it might be a little early to start with the names? Maybe you should give it some time."

Seth nodded his head. "You're probably right. I should play it more cool, hard to get, even. Good thinking."

Seth rambled happily on for the next twenty minutes about Summer's many attributes, until he pointed at the bacon Ryan was frying. "Are you about done with breakfast?"

"Yeah. You can go get your folks if you want."

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Sandy had no more than barely entered the bedroom when Kirsten swiftly shut the door behind him. "Ryan was going to run away last night."

"What? What makes you think that?"

"Because when I went to wake him this morning he was fast asleep on _top_ of the covers."

"Honey, that's hardly cause to believe that he was going anywhere."

"Maybe not, but how about the fact that he was fully dressed _and_ in his own clothes?"

Sandy sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. "Damn," he swore. "Did you say anything to him about it?"

"I didn't tell him that I knew what I knew, but I tried to subtly let him know that I knew."

Sandy raised one eyebrow. "Honey, I don't mean to scare you, but that sounded frighteningly like Seth. I don't have a clue what you just said."

Kirsten threw her hands up. "It's not important. Basically, when I questioned him on why he slept in his clothes, he came up with some story about getting ready early in case you wanted to take him back to Chino. I think what really happened was he fell asleep waiting for us to go to bed."

"We're going to have to keep a closer eye on him today. I don't think we should leave him alone anymore than is absolutely necessary."

"Do you think we should tell Seth? I told you last night how I already hinted at some things when I spoke to him. I think maybe we should expand a little more without going into too much detail."

"You're right. We need Seth on our side. Ryan feels the most comfortable around him. I don't think he would suspect anything if Seth didn't let him out of his sight. I'm sure Ryan's already figured out that Seth is more than a little demanding when it comes to needing constant attention."

"Like father, like son."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Seth stuck his head in the room. "Hey, guys. Ryan says breakfast is ready. Mom, you're not even dressed yet. What have you two been doing?" Seeing the kiss, he screwed up his face in disgust. "On second thought. Don't answer that."

"Seth," his mother began. "Where's Ryan?"

"Where do you think? He's in the kitchen."

"You left him there all alone?"

"Jeez, Mom, chill. He seemed to know what he was doing. You're the one who almost burned the place down this morning."

Kirsten didn't take time to answer her son as she rushed passed him on her way to get to the kitchen.

Seth pointed at the door. "What's up with you and Mom? You guys are acting weirder every day."

"Son, we need to talk about Ryan."

"Again? Mom already talked to me last night."

"I'm aware of that, but now it's my turn. This is serious. We're going to need your help."

"Okay," Seth replied, looking worried. "He's not in more trouble is he? I thought you took care of the whole stolen car thing."

"I did. This isn't about that. I'm talking about a different type of trouble. Your mother and I are very worried about him."

"You're starting to freak me out, Dad. What's wrong with him?"

Sandy looked around the room almost as if to check to see if Ryan wasn't hidden there somewhere. "You are not to repeat a word of this to Ryan, is that understood?"

"I got it already," he answered impatiently, "What is it?"

"I know your mother mentioned to you that we are concerned about Ryan's stepfather. Well, I have some people checking into his background."

"What do you mean, you're checking into his background? What does any of that have to do with Ryan?"

Sandy shifted uncomfortably. He was treading on thin ice. He knew Seth would want to know more than he was telling him. However, he also knew the sheltered life his son led. He doubted Seth's ability to believe, let alone understand, the life of abuse Ryan may be living. He decided to skirt the issue and stick mainly to Art's history. "We think he may be involved in some illegal activities."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with Ryan."

"He's his guardian, Seth. I can't just let Ryan live with a known criminal. I'm concerned about his ability to care for Ryan and the influence he has over him. Think about it. Does Ryan really seem the type to steal a car?"

Seth looked at his feet and kicked the foot of the bed. "No." He looked at Sandy, suddenly understanding. "Do you mean you think his stepdad made him steal the car?"

Sandy sighed in relief, glad that he didn't need to explain anymore. "Yes, son, that is exactly what I think."

"So, what does all this mean for Ryan? What are you going to do if you find out this guy _is_ a crook?"

"Honestly? I don't know. However, until I find out everything I possibly can about his stepfather, Ryan's not going back to Chino tomorrow. And if the guy is a criminal, he won't be going back at all, if we have anything to say about it. Remember, I haven't said anything to him. We're not going to, for the moment."

"Okay, I won't say a word, but what did you need my help with?"

"We're worried that Ryan might leave without telling us."

"Do you mean, like, run away? Because you do realize he doesn't live here, don't you? If he wants to leave, I don't think you can stop him."

"He's a minor and I think he's in trouble. So, yeah, I can stop him if I want to." Sandy's voice was stern. "I don't want him going anywhere without me knowing about it. Do you think you can keep an eye on him without him knowing that you're watching him?"

"I don't know, Dad. I understood what Mom talked about last night…not covering for him if he's hurt and letting him speak for himself, but spying. He's my friend. It feels wrong."

Sandy put his hands on Seth's shoulders. "I don't want you to do anything you don't feel comfortable in doing." He stopped for a moment, trying to find a way to get make Seth understand the importance of the matter. "What did you two guys do yesterday?"

"Play video games, go sailing, hang out…you already know all of this."

"Okay, in all that time, were you ever _not_ with him for over a few minutes?"

"Well, I didn't follow him to the bathroom, if that's what you mean."

"I'm not asking you to do anything different today, except come and find me or your mother if you don't know where he is. Right away. Is that understood?"

"Okay. I guess I can do that, but I'm still not sure if I like it."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but this is important. Thank you. I knew we could count on you. Now, let's go have some breakfast before your mother somehow manages to ruin it."

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Kirsten paused in the hallway just outside of the kitchen when she heard the clanking of silverware signaling that Ryan had not run off. She took a moment to catch her breath, and composed herself before entering the kitchen.

"Everything smells wonderful, Ryan. If it tastes as good as it smells and looks, we'll all be in heaven."

"Thanks. My mom was never much of a cook." He motioned to her robe. "I thought you were going to change?"

"Oh that, well I was...," she began. "But I'm a very thorough flosser and I didn't want to risk the food getting cold." She hoped she was a better liar than Ryan. Changing the subject she pointed to the stove. "Is that bacon?"

He looked at her hesitantly. "I'm sorry. Was that not okay?"

Kirsten had a huge smile on her face. She leaned over and picked up a piece. "Of course it is. I love bacon. How do you get it so crispy without burning it? Every time I try I just end up with black charcoal strips."

Kirsten caught a moment of sadness cross his features before Ryan ducked his head. He placed one hand around his wrist-cuff and brought his arms almost to his chest. With his thumb, he began to slowly rub the snaps on the cuff in small circular motions.

"I had to learn pretty fast that burning food was not acceptable." He took a ragged shallow breath and tightly gripped his wrist, stopping the motion.

"Ryan?" Kirsten asked. There was something about the way he was acting that made her heart ache for him.

He looked up at her startled, as if he had been awakened from a trance.

"I...I just meant we couldn't afford to waste food. We didn't...we don't have much money."

She nodded her head as if she understood.

Ryan was relieved when Seth slowly walked into the kitchen, dragging his feet. He threw his head back in an exaggerated gesture and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Puh-lease tell me breakfast is ready. I'm starving."

Sandy, who was been following close behind him, placed his hands on Seth's shoulders, giving them a playful shake. "It always amazes me how you can do nothing but play video games morning, noon, and night, and still be hungry all the time."

"Mental exertion can take a lot out of you too, you know. Not to mention, have you seen the speed at which my hands must fly to properly maneuver the controls?"

"No. However, I would like to see the speed at which your hands fly when it comes to setting the table. You said you would help with breakfast, but I'm guessing you didn't so much as lift a finger."

"How did you know?"

"I've been your mother for fifteen years, honey. I know you. Now, if you're really as starving as you say you are, you'll hurry up and set the table."

"Okay, if I must. But let me warn you, I am feeling a bit weak from hunger, and the strain of carrying the plates may be too much for me. If I pass out, you will only have yourself to blame, Mother."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Kirsten shoved the dishes in her son's hands, and turned toward Ryan taking the silverware from him. "Ryan, why don't you go ahead and have a seat at the table with Sandy? Seth and I can finish getting everything ready."

She saw his eyes dart to Sandy and the empty chair next to him and back again.

"That's all right, Mrs. Cohen. I'd rather help you and Seth."

She noticed how slowly Ryan brought over the last remaining breakfast items. It was obvious that he was trying to waste time so that he would not have to take a place at the table until after she and Seth were already seated on opposite sides of Sandy.

Sandy took a large bite of the banana pancakes. "Kid, these pancakes are fantastic."

Seth chimed in. "He's right. Not that we have much to compare it to, but these are definitely worthy of the pancake tour of North America."

Ryan smiled shyly, ducked his head, and muttered an embarrassed, "Thank you."

For a while, they all ate in silence, each enjoying the moment for their own reason. There was, of course, only so much quiet Seth could take at one time. "Hey, Ryan," he said with a mouthful of food. "I never asked you what you and my dad did last night."

Tension immediately filled the room. Even Seth knew something was wrong. Despite the two little heart-to-heart chats that he'd had with his parents the last two days, he knew there was a lot they weren't telling him. His parents looked uncomfortable to say the least, especially his dad, and Ryan had immediately stopped eating. He now sat head down, hands in his laps, casting nervous glances around the table.

Seth was determined to get everyone back in the good mood they had just been in a minute before. He looked around; trying to think of something to say that would work. Then he saw it, the previously unnoticed Movie Palace sack sitting on the coffee table.

"Dad," he cried out in fake astonishment. "Tell me you did not subject Ryan to Stallone movies." He walked over to the table and peered into the bag. "Ack, you did! What could you have been thinking?"

Sandy smiled. He had never been so proud of his son in his life. "Sorry, son. I didn't realize I had done something so horrible."

"Obviously not. I just hope it wasn't too bad. Let's just see what you picked out." He pulled out the first movie. "_Over the Top_, isn't that an arm wrestling movie?"

"Arm wrestling classic," Sandy deadpanned in a perfect Sly imitation, which earned him a smile from both Kirsten and Ryan.

"That's not tooooo bad, it could have been worse. What's this one? Oh no! It did get worse." He held up the second movie's case. "_Tango and Cash_? Even you have to admit that one is pretty bad. Exactly what made you pick this?"

"I can guess that one," Kirsten interjected. "I'm going out on a limb and say that it has something to do with Teri Hatcher. Isn't that right, dear?" She looked smugly at her husband.

"You got me. I'm a sucker for her beautiful, big…"

"Sandy!"

"I was going to say beautiful, big, brown eyes. What did you think I was going to say?"

"Never mind." Kirsten shook her head and laughed.

"Uh, excuse me, parents. That's more information than we needed. I will concede to the fact that she _is _hot, and she once played Lois Lane. However, I'm upset that I spent my valuable time trying to convince Ryan that Dad wasn't a total geek-ball only to have him pick out inferior movie titles. I'm going to let this slide…for now, but please consult me before going to the video store again."

"Thank you, son. I'm so relieved that I'm being forgiven for such a heinous crime. I'll try to do better next time."

"I'm just glad that I had finished eating. Because this…" He held up the movie again. "Is enough to make anyone lose their appetite."

"If that's the case, why don't you start helping clear off the table?"

"I'd like to, Mother. I really would, but after making such a discovery, I feel like I should rest and perhaps play a round of video games. Ryan, would you care to join me?"

"I should help clean up." He stood and started carrying his plate and Seth's to the sink.

"Sandy and I will take care of the dishes. You did more than enough by cooking this morning. Go…go have some fun." Kirsten shooed him in the direction of the living room. "By the way, boys, I've decided that we're going to the Club for lunch today so stick around the house. I don't want to have to track you down when it's time to leave."

"I'm not going, am I?" Ryan asked, clearly nervous.

"Of course. Why?"

"Well…I mean….I just thought since I didn't go that party last night."

"That was different, kid. Last night was a grand social event. This is just lunch."

"Sandy's right. Last night was a lot of mingling. We would have had to leave you on your own most of the evening. Today we'll all be together. It'll be fine. I promise."

Tbc

**Thank Yous: **I need to thank loracj2, beachtree, finlee, and fifimom for helping me out with questions regarding home security and gated communities. I may have written some things in regards to this incorrectly, but it's how I wanted it to work for the purposes of this story.

Also, for their help in questions regarding the Cohens' household I need to thank 60schic, loracj2, smc36, and beachtree. Big thank yous to Katwoman76 who in helping me gave me pretty pictures of Ryan to look at and Millstone1005 who actually watched a Season 3 episode to try and figure out if Seth had a bathroom in his room.


	9. Chapter 9

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- very minor swearing and of course...Ryan angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Nine**

Son...of...a...bitch! Ryan swore and ripped the tie from around his neck and threw it to the floor.

ocococococococ

Ryan and Seth were sitting on the living room floor, deeply involved in Playstation when Kirsten walked in carrying a clear plastic garment bag.

"Ryan, I found an old suit of Sandy's for you to wear this afternoon. I've been meaning to give it away. I'm afraid Sandy outgrew it at least two years ago."

Sandy had made a point on sticking close to Ryan since breakfast. He wanted to keep an eye on him, but just as much, he wanted Ryan to regain some of the feeling of comfort he had begun to show the previous night, before the high-five incident made him pull back into his shell.

He was sitting on the loveseat opposite the boys, pretending to read a book when Kirsten made her announcement. He looked up at her with his his best look of hurt and disbelief. "Hey, I remember that suit. For your information, I didn't outgrow it. I stopped wearing it because I didn't like it."

She leaned over the couch, patted his stomach and winked at the boys. "Yes, dear. I imagine it would be a little hard to like something you can't breathe in."

"Hands off the merchandise, lady. I'll have you know that I'm in as good as shape as the day you married me. Rock hard abs is what you have here. I can't tell you how many times the ladies check me out while I'm surfing. I never told you, of course, to spare you the intense feelings of jealousy."

"Thank you, honey. I appreciate you thinking only of me. I'm quite sure you're still the same chick magnet that you were twenty years ago. Now, before you distract me anymore with your manly physique..."

"Mom, Dad, please stop now before I lose my breakfast."

Kirsten rolled her eyes. "As I was saying, I'm going to put this out in the pool house for you, Ryan. You boys have about twenty more minutes before you need to change."

"I don't think I should go." Ryan spoke so softly that Kirsten barely heard him.

"Aren't you feeling all right? You are looking a little pale. Maybe I should take your temperature again." She laid the suit over the back of the couch and headed toward the bathroom.

Ryan shook his head. "No, that's not it. I feel fine. It's just...well..." He began to chew his lower lip and glanced up at her through his bangs. "I've never been anywhere that made you dress up just to eat. What if I do something wrong? I might embarrass you."

Sandy put his book down on the coffee table and leaned forward. "It's going to be fine, kid. Despite having to wear a suit, the club really isn't all that formal. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, buddy. It's no big deal. Unless of course you use your dessert fork to eat your salad. The last guy to do that was never seen or heard from again."

"Don't listen to him, Ryan," Kirsten said, while trying not to glare at her son. "Didn't you and Seth eat at the diner on the pier yesterday?"

Ryan nodded.

"The only difference between there and the club is a dress code."

"The diner has a dress code, Mom. It says so right on the door. No shirt, no shoes, no service. Considering it's right on the beach that seems like a pretty strict dress code to me."

"Any more help out of you and I'll cancel our reservations and cook lunch myself. You know," She began while pointing her finger in the air. "It has been awhile since I've cooked my famous brisket."

"I'm sorry! I love the club. It's awesome. My most favorite place to eat in the whole world. Besides, you wouldn't do that to Ryan, would you? I mean that would be cruel and inhumane."

Kirsten narrowed her eyes. "Cruel and inhumane?"

"No, no, no. You completely misunderstood me. I didn't mean that your cooking is inhumane. Quite the opposite, you're the Julia Child of Orange County." Seth widened his eyes in an attempt to look sincere and innocent. "I simply meant that I'm sure deep down, he was really looking forward to dining with Newport's finest. It may very well be an experience to treasure throughout his lifetime."

"Well, since you put it that way, the club it is." Kirsten picked up the suit from the couch and walked into the kitchen, but stopped before opening the patio doors. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that the tie is in the breast pocket."

"A tie?" As Ryan slumped back against the foot of the couch, he heard Sandy softly chuckle and say, "I wouldn't even think about arguing about that one, kid."

ocococococococ

Now after fifteen minutes and fifteen failed attempts, Ryan stood, glaring at the tie that now lay crumpled on the bathroom floor. He was about to stomp on it, just to make himself feel better, when he heard the pool house door open.

"Seth," he cried out. "Get in here and help me with this stupid tie your mom expects me to wear. I hate the damn thing."

Ryan froze. He had expected to hear a snide comment from Seth, but instead, the sound of Sandy's laughter filled his ears. He quickly made a dive for the tie, but Sandy was already in the doorway leaning down to pick it up.

"I take it things aren't going too smoothly?" Sandy asked with a knowing grin, swinging the tie back and forth on his index finger.

Ryan cursed his stupidity. Despite the fact that Mr. Cohen didn't look angry, Ryan knew better. There was no way Art would ever tolerate anything of his being treated that way.

"I...I didn't...I mean...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry..." He tried to explain, apologize, but gave up. Excuses and apologies rarely did any good anyway. He took a breath, turned his head, burying his chin into his left shoulder, and closed his eyes, waiting.

As Sandy watched Ryan preparing himself to be hit, his hatred for Art grew.

"It's okay, kid. I know exactly what you mean. I've been wearing ties for twenty years and I still hate them."

Ryan dared to open his eyes.

"I didn't know how to tie a tie until I was twenty-five. Button your top button and put your collar up."

Ryan did as Sandy asked and tried not to flinch when Sandy placed the tie around his neck.

"Now the skinny side has got to be shorter than the fat side. How much shorter changes from tie to tie. Sometimes it's just a mystery."

Ryan watched and listened as Sandy taught him how to tie a tie. He knew he was safe for now. But he couldn't help wondering about this strange man in front of him. Ryan wondered what it did take for Sandy to lose his temper. Ryan hoped he never found out.

"There you go," Sandy said as he straightened Ryan's tie. He turned the boy toward the mirror. "You look pretty sharp. Your face is a little more colorful than I'd like, but all in all you have to admit, it sure beats a jump suit."

Ryan slowly smiled. He had to agree with Mr. Cohen. He did feel pretty good, but he figured it was the suit. It probably cost more than most of the cars in Chino.

"Come on kid. Kirsten and Seth are waiting for us out front.."

They were pulling out of the gates at the end of the drive when Ryan heard something that sent chills down his spine. He could have sworn he heard the rattle and roar of Art's truck. He turned around and caught a glimpse of what looked like an old truck speeding away.

"Is something the matter, Ryan?" Sandy questioned. He was looking at Ryan in the rearview mirror.

"No, it's nothing. I just thought I heard something." He slumped down in his seat. He couldn't be sure of what he thought he heard, or might have seen, but he knew. He knew that Art was checking up on him, and letting him know not to forget the real reason he was there.

ocococococococ

They arrived at the club shortly after one. Sandy had barely handed the keys to the valet when Seth started complaining.

"Would you hurry up? I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Kirsten admonished.

"But this time I mean it. I can literally feel myself getting weaker and weaker from the hunger." He pulled at the waist band of his slacks. "See, these pants weren't this loose when we left the house." He threw his head back and whined some more. "Why is Ryan not out of the Rover yet? If I pass out right here and now, buddy, it'll be all your fault."

Sandy looked at Ryan still hunched down in the back seat. "Seth, why don't you and your mother go on in and get our table? Ryan and I will be in a couple of minutes."

"You've got five minutes. Come on, Mom. They better have the good rolls today, or heads will roll. No pun intended."

Sandy waited until Seth and Kirsten were inside before opening Ryan's door. "Are you sure everything's all right? I know you're not exactly the most talkative kid in the world, but you haven't made a sound since we left the house."

Crap, he was in trouble again. No wonder Art was always calling him a screw-up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait on me. I'm fine. We can go inside." He got out of the Rover and started walking away.

Without thinking, Sandy grabbed Ryan by the arm to stop him and said, "Hold on there a minute. I want to talk to you."

He immediately regretted his action. Ryan inhaled sharply and pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry."

"No, kid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed your arm. That's the one with the bruise on it, isn't it? Does it hurt?"

It was and it did, but he shook his head no.

"No. I'm fine. Honest. Can we go in now?"

"In a minute. I want to know what's bothering you. Are you still worried about eating here?"

Ryan thought that was as good as excuse as any.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean look at this place. Normally they wouldn't even let me park cars here."

"Well, you've got a point. You don't have a license and the whole car stealing incident wouldn't look good on a resume."

Ryan looked at the ground.

"Sorry, bad joke," Sandy apologized. "You know, they wouldn't let me in a place like this either if I wasn't married to Kirsten."

Ryan turned his head up.

"I mean I'm a public defender. What I make in a year wouldn't cover just even one Newpsie's bar tab. But you know what? You and I are here now, and we both look good. Damn good if you ask me."

Ryan paused. "What about those Newpsies you keep talking about? They'll be in there, won't they? Won't they ask you who I am and where I'm from? What are you going to tell them?"

"Don't worry about them. The one good thing about Newpsies is that they all like to have a good time on Saturday night. This morning their claws will be retracted. They are going to be too busy dealing with the effects of last night to pay much attention to anyone or anything. And if they do, we'll just tell them you're a friend of the family. It's the truth, isn't it?"

Ryan smiled at him for the second time that day. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good, let's go eat. Seth is probably sending out a search party by now."

As Ryan walked through the dining room, he was relieved to discover that Sandy had been right. Most of the women there were sporting large dark glasses and were staring very intently at the cocktails sitting in front of them.

"Is everything all right?" Kirsten asked, when they reached the table.

Sandy took a seat next to his wife and grabbed her hand. "Everything is just fine, honey. I just had to explain a few Newpsie rituals to Ryan."

"You told him about the Newpsies?" Kirsten asked, shocked.

"It's okay. Seth and I both mentioned them yesterday. But don't worry. I explained that they were not unlike vampires. They shrink from the bright rays of the sun." He picked up a roll and pointed it at her. "Of course, I think part of the reason they don't like bright lights is that their nips and tucks are a bit more obvious. But don't worry about Ryan. He's fine." Sandy looked over at Ryan and saw him staring wide-eyed at the menu. "Or at least he was."

Ryan couldn't believe what he was seeing. Half the items on the menu he had never heard of before, and the other half was unbelievably expensive. He could eat for two weeks for the cost of one meal here. The Cohens knew he didn't have any money. They had been more than generous all weekend with him, but surely they weren't going to spend that much money on him?

By the time the waiter appeared, Ryan had scanned the menu three more times, before deciding that the soup was the cheapest thing on the menu. He was about to order, when Sandy took the menu from him and began to order for the entire table.

"Afternoon, Michael," Sandy began. "I believe we'll all just have the special this afternoon."

"Um, Dad. That's not what I was going to order...OUCH! Hey, who just kicked me?"

"Sorry, son. Leg cramp. You're the one who always says I've got old bones." He looked sharply at Seth and darted his eyes toward Ryan.

"Oh, got it. Yeah, you and those old decrepit bones of yours. As I was about to say, before I was crippled, the special.Yummy, sounds delicious."

"I thought so."

Ryan looked at Seth, then at Mr. Cohen and then back again. He realized that Mr. Cohen was trying to make him feel comfortable and that Seth, as always, was a bit slow catching on. And although he didn't understand why they cared about his feelings, he appreciated it.

"Thanks."

"For what, Ryan?" Sandy tried to sound innocent. "I realize that I should have probably asked you if the special was okay, but since Seth is clearly starving to death, I didn't think it was wise to waste any more time."

Ryan didn't bother to say anything else. He caught himself smiling again, and thinking about how much he would miss this family after tomorrow.

ocococococococ

After the meal was over, Ryan excused himself. He had just exited the restroom when he felt himself being shoved against the wall.

"Well, well, well, lookie who's here."

Ryan found himself staring at Chet Steadman from the previous afternoon.

"I see Cohen dressed you up for today's date. He needn't have bothered. Everyone here can tell you're nothing but street scum."

"Get out of my way," Ryan warned.

"Or what?" Chet pushed Ryan back against the wall, holding him there. "You know, I never got to finish what I started yesterday. Maybe I should take you out back like the trash you are, and kick your ass."

"Last time I checked yesterday's fight was two against one, rich kid." Ryan knocked Chet's hand away. "And I don't see _your _little boyfriend anywhere around today. So if you want to go out back and finish what we started at the diner, I'm all for it."

Ryan didn't have any intention of getting in a fight and embarrassing the Cohens, but he knew kids like Chet and had dealings with them before. He was a bully that would back down when push came to shove. He took a menacing step toward Chet. "What are you waiting for? Let's get this over with."

Chet didn't disappoint Ryan. He backed away and began stuttering, "Are...are you serious? Fight here at the club, with my parents right inside?"

Ryan snorted in disgust. "Yeah, I mean right here, right now." With each word, Ryan gave Chet a small shove backwards. "Why? Do you have a problem with that, mama's boy?"

"No, I mean, look, maybe it's not that big of a deal that you're here today. I can overlook it this once."

Ryan snorted in disgust and was about to walk past Chet and back to the Cohens when unfortunately, Chet's mother appeared.

"Chet, sweetheart, what's going on here? Who's this boy you're talking to?" She eyed Ryan suspiciously. "I don't know you. Who are your parents?"

"He's the one I got in a fight with yesterday, Mom."

"So you're the one who gave my son a black eye. Listen here, young man, I don't who you are or where you came from, but you can just go right back. This is an elite community. We do _not _tolerate low-class ruffians here. It's bad enough you started a fight at the pier yesterday, but this is _The_ Club. I will not have you bullying my son. I've half a mind to have the manager call the police."

The police. Ryan swallowed hard and backed away.

"Is something the matter, Marcie?" Ryan was never so relieved to hear anyone's voice as much as he was Mrs. Cohen's at that moment.

"Kirsten, don't tell me _this_ _boy_ is with you."

"Yes, he is. This is Ryan. He's a friend of the family and he's staying with us for the weekend."

Marcie sniffed in disgust. "I take it he's a friend of Sandy's family."

Kirsten did not appreciate Marcie's tone. "Just exactly what do you mean by that, may I ask?"

"Oh come on, Kirsten. Who are you trying to fool? Look at him. This boy is obviously not from polite society. I'd recognize that old suit of Sandy's anywhere. He must be some poor friend of Sandy's from where he used to live before you rescued him. Wasn't Sandy from the Bronx?" Marcie said the last like it was a dirty word.

"Yeah, I'm from the Bronx. Proud of it, too." Sandy came up from behind.

Marcie jumped at Sandy's sudden appearance. "Sandy, I didn't see you come over. I hope I didn't offend you."

"Offend me? Don't be ridiculous. I will say I'm a bit disappointed and frankly, a little surprised."

"How so?"

"This is supposed to be a community that welcomes outsiders. I mean, like you pointed out, I'm all the way from the Bronx and you, you're from Riverside, right?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Now, Marcie," Sandy said condescendingly. "We all know how much Greg likes to talk when he's had a few too many. Last summer after the annual charity golf tournament, he happened to mention how he met you."

Marcie began to look very nervous. "He did?"

By this time Sandy was grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Yes, he did, and I must say that I personally think that _all _methods of dance are an art form. Don't you agree?"

Chet looked at his mother. "Mom, what's he talking about?"

"Nothing, dear. Just go back to the table."

"But, Mom."

"Now...please."

Chet turned and left. Marcie looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else was within hearing distance.

"All right, Sandy, you made your point. I apologize if I insulted you or your house guest."

"Apology accepted."

"If I may ask, was anyone else around when Gregory was telling that particular story?"

"No. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you. Kirsten, I'll see you at yogalates tomorrow." She turned to walk away.

"Oh, and Marcie," Sandy began.

"Yes?"

"Before you go around accusing Ryan of starting fights with your son, I suggest you get your facts straight." He put a protective arm around Ryan's shoulders while not letting him pull away. "I know that Ryan didn't start the fight yesterday, and I can guarantee that whatever little altercation that just transpired here was definitely not by his choice. He's a good kid, and I don't want the local gossipers to hear any different. You do realize how news spreads in this town. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, I do. They won't hear a word from me."

"Thank you."

After Marcie left, Ryan sighed and slumped back against the wall. He didn't know what to think about what had just happened. The Cohens didn't seem to be mad at him at all. In fact, they had actually defended him to Chet's mother. No one had stood up for him his entire life.

He glanced at the two of them before returning his gaze to the floor and said, "Thank you."

"For what, kid?"

"Um, for standing up for me. For not getting mad that I embarrassed you and caused a scene in front of your friends." He straightened and dared to look directly at Sandy before asking hesitantly, "You're not mad, are you?"

"Why would I be mad? Kirsten and I know you didn't do anything wrong. And you didn't embarrass us. If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be Marcie for raising a baboon for a son."

"Sandy, he's just a kid."

"I know that, honey, but he's still a baboon." He took a hold of her arm and started guiding her back to their table. "You know what I think we've all had enough of the club for one day. Why don't you go get Seth and we'll go?"

Kirsten smiled and shook her head and went back to the table.

"I'm assuming you're ready to leave too, Ryan."

"Yeah. Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Mad? Are you kidding me? Don't tell Kirsten, but that was the most fun I've had in weeks."

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: In this chapter- very minor swearing and of course...Ryan angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Ten**

They had been driving for ten minutes when Ryan realized they weren't heading back to the Cohens' home.

"Where are we going?" he whispered to Seth.

"We're just completing another Cohen family tradition."

"Which is?"

"Every Sunday we go out to lunch and then to the grocery store."

"You don't mind, do you, Ryan?" Kirsten turned around in the front passenger seat so she could see him.

"No, of course not."

"Thank you." She turned slightly to face her son. "We had to start this little tradition when Seth turned twelve."

"Yeah. That's when they got sick of me complaining that there was never anything to eat."

"No, son. That's not why." Sandy joined in the conversation.

"Your father's right. It was when we pointed out over a dozen different things you could have to eat, all you did was change your whining and complaining to there was never anything _good _to eat. That's why we started making this a family affair."

"I didn't whine."

Sandy cleared his throat and Kirsten gave him a look.

"Okay, maybe a little. Anyway, Ryan, now I can pick out my supplies for the week."

"Under the condition that if we have to hear one word of complaint, he loses his Playstation for the night."

"You mean you get to pick out whatever you want?" Even though Ryan had spent the better part of two days with Seth, he still couldn't quite grasp the other boy's freedom and privileges.

"Well, within reason. They never let me buy lobster. And they're right about the complaining. Yeesh! My ears are still ringing from the last lecture about starving children in Africa."

"Ryan," Kirsten said, ignoring her son. "While we're there, why don't you pick out what you want for breakfast? We usually just have bagels and cereal during the week. Is there any particular cereal you like?"

"That's all right. I appreciate it, but you'd just be wasting your money. After all, I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

_No, you're not. _ Sandy thought, but said, "Don't worry about it, kid. I'm sure whatever you don't eat, Seth will manage to finish off."

ocococococococococococococ

Ryan stood in the super market, gazing at all the different choices. He couldn't believe how different even this was from home. The store in Chino didn't even carry name brands.

"Come on, man. As much as I love food, I don't want to spend all day here." Seth grabbed a cart and started heading down the aisle.

"Sorry." Ryan followed Seth throughout the store, watching as his new friend filled the cart until it was overflowing with food.

"You eat all of this in a week?"

"It _is _the summer. I'm home a lot, and like I've said before, playing video games can really work up an appetite. What's the big deal?"

"It's just that this is more money than we spend on food in a month, maybe two."

"Oh," Seth said awkwardly. Ryan had only mentioned his home a couple of times, and each time it left Seth feeling uncomfortable. He felt guilty for complaining about his life, since it was obvious that Ryan's was pretty rough.

"You boys ready to go?" Sandy asked as he and Kirsten rounded the corner.

The boys each nodded their head in agreement.

ocococococococococococococ

Ryan and Sandy loaded the sacks into the back of the Rover, while Seth played with the radio. Kirsten had stopped just outside the doors of the store to chat with a Newpsie about the upcoming charity event. Ryan turned to grab the last sacks, and then he saw him.

There, half- hidden behind a SUV, was a kid not much older than himself. He was eyeing up Kirsten with a look Ryan knew all too well. He watched as Kirsten said goodbye to the Newpsie and start walking towards the car. The other boy emerged right on cue.

Ryan dropped the groceries and took off at a dead run. He knocked into the boy at full force, causing both of them to fall to the pavement.

"What the hell?" the boy sputtered.

"Sorry. I didn't see you."

"I suggest you watch where you're going next time." He stood and glared down at Ryan who was still trying to stand.

"What's going on here? Ryan, are you all right?" Sandy asked, as he helped Ryan up.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Cohen."

"It's _not_ fine. This punk could have broken my arm running into me like that. I might sue."

"Good luck with that one," Ryan replied sarcastically, holding out a wallet. "Is this yours?" He didn't let either Cohen see that the driver's license didn't belong to the boy. He smiled knowingly. "Bob?" Ryan finished. "You must have _dropped _it when you fell."

The other boy eyed Ryan suspiciously, before a look of comprehension crossed his face. "Yeah, it is." He snatched the wallet from Ryan's hand and began to look around the parking lot nervously. "Look, maybe it's not that big of a deal. I've got to get going, anyway. Just try and be more careful next time, would ya?"

"Sure. No problem," Ryan replied.

When the boy was out of sight, Kirsten asked Ryan again. "Are you sure you're okay? You hit him and the ground pretty hard."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Cohen. Thank you." He looked down and noticed that Sandy's suit had not fared as well. The left leg was torn beyond repair. He looked at Sandy. "But your suit's not. I'm really sorry. I'll try to pay you back."

"I don't care about the suit, kid. What I do care about is what really just happened here?"

"What do you mean?" Ryan began to fidget.

"I mean most people don't run full speed ahead across an empty parking lot to _accidentally_ run into another person." He raised his eyebrows and spoke with a stern tone. "I want the truth, Ryan."

Ryan looked at the asphalt, the stripes of the parking spaces, the tires of the parked cars, anywhere but at Mr. Cohen.

"Ryan," Sandy repeated sharper than before.

Ryan sighed. He had managed to back himself into yet another corner. Once again, he decided to go with as much as the truth as he could; hopefully, without letting the Cohens know too much about him.

"He was going to steal your purse." He looked at Kirsten. Her eyes widened and she held her purse tighter.

"How do you know that?"

"Purse snatching is a fairly common occurrence in Chino. I could tell he was scoping Mrs. Cohen out. Some guys can be pretty smooth about it. They wait until a woman is distracted and then slice through the straps. You wouldn't even realize your purse was missing until they're long gone. But not that guy. He was going to knock you down and rip the purse from your arm." He looked at Kirsten. "You could have been hurt."

Kirsten's reaction to his story shocked him more than anything ever had before, as she pulled him into a fierce hug. The embrace caused pain to go shooting through his back and he tried to pull away, but she held on tight. Finally she pulled back, but held onto his hands. This embarrassed him almost as much as the hug.

"Me? What about you? You could have been hurt. What if he _did _have a knife? You matter to me much more than a purse."

"But..."

"No buts, kid. Kirsten's right. The purse and everything in it are material things. They can all be replaced. They're not as important as your safety."

Ryan didn't know what to think. Never in his life had anyone shown as much concern for him as the Cohens had in the past five minutes. His eyes began to sting and he blinked, trying to keep back the unwanted moisture from forming in his eyes.

"Ryan." Kirsten squeezed his hands. "I don't want you to ever put yourself in danger like that again. Do you understand?"

Ryan nodded. He did understand, but he knew in less than twenty-four hours, he _would _be putting himself in harm's way. Only that time he would be the thief.

"Good. Now let's go back home. I've had enough excitement for one day."

"Me too, honey. Not to mention my fudge ripple is melting."

"You know, that fudge ripple might be the reason that this suit..." She rubbed the arm of Ryan's jacket. "no longer fits you."

"I keep telling you. I don't wear it because I don't like it. Why don't you believe me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because of your love of ice cream, bagels schmeared with cream cheese, cheese puffs... should I go on?"

Sandy laughed. "I give up. Ryan, if you learn one thing in life it better be to never argue with a beautiful woman, especially if she's your wife."

They returned to the car to find Seth sitting in the back seat of the Rover, playing his Gameboy. He looked up when the doors opened.

"Hey, you guys totally missed it. I almost saw that BMW rear-end that Jag." Seth shook his head. "I can't believe the one exciting thing that happens around here and I'm the only one to see it."

Sandy rolled his eyes and chuckled. "We're sorry we missed it. I guess you're just the lucky one."

ocococococococococococococ

They had barely left the parking lot when Kirsten's phone rang.

"Hello, Dad. How's Japan?"

Sandy let out a loud groan, which earned him a dirty look from Kirsten.

"Grandpa and Dad don't exactly get along." Seth explained to Ryan.

"No, Dad. I don't have those numbers in front of me. It's Sunday."

"Slave driver," Sandy said, loud enough for Caleb to hear.

"Sandy, hush," Kirsten ordered.

"Grandpa owns the company where my mom works. He's overseas doing business right now, but he still manages to keep everyone on edge, including Mom."

"All right, Dad. I'll swing by the office and get the numbers and call you back later. Bye." She turned to Sandy. "Honey..."

"No, let me guess. Your father wants you to work today."

"Not exactly. I just need to look up a couple of numbers. It'll take me five minutes. Then no more work the rest of the day. I promise."

Sandy looked at his wife with skepticism. "Sure. I'll believe that when I see it."

"What do you do exactly?" Ryan asked, and this time it was Seth's turn to groan.

"Dude, don't ask."

"I tried explaining it to Seth once and he fell asleep halfway through. My dad is in real estate development. He owns the Newport Group."

"Wow, you guys built the Pacific Auditorium and the baseball stadium."

"That's right. However, I don't usually work on those projects. I'm in charge of residential development."

"So, you deal with the contractors and the architects."

"I'm impressed, Ryan."

Ryan smiled and looked down. He wasn't used to praise and he wasn't sure how to react. He was saved from further worry when Seth's loud and clearly fake snoring interrupted the silence.

"Very funny, Seth. You can wake up now. We're here." She turned to Ryan. "Would you like to come in?"

"Really?" She hadn't seen him look so excited all weekend.

"Sure, there's nothing going on right now, but you can still see what the place looks like."

"Thanks."

Once they reached Kirsten's office, she started flipping through her filing cabinets in search of the documents she needed. She watched Ryan out of the corner of her eye studying the blueprints on her desk.

He looked up when he felt her watching him.

"Sorry," he mumbled and backed away from her desk.

"Don't be sorry. I think it's great. How do you learn about blueprints?"

"Before my mom married Art, she dated a construction foreman. When he was in a good mood, he would let me look at the blueprints and explain things to me."

She smiled at him encouragingly. This was the first time he had voluntarily told her anything about his life.

"I always thought it would be cool to be the guy who drew them."

"You want to be an architect? Ryan, that's wonderful."

"Not really." He saw her surprised look. "I mean it's never going to happen."

"Why not?"

"You have to go to college to do that kind of stuff. I'll probably just end up working at one of the local garages or at the factory, like everyone else in Chino."

"Ryan, those jobs are important. I know that, believe me. Personally, I don't know what I'd do without our mechanic, but if that's not what you want to do with your life..."

"It doesn't matter, Mrs. Cohen."

"Yes, it does. Now, I don't know about your grades." She looked at him, trying to see his response to the mention of school, but he kept his head down. "But there are scholarships, grants, even student loans to help pay for the cost of college."

"It's not just the money. Even if I won the lottery, no college would ever accept me."

"Why not?"

"I'm not smart enough."

"Ryan." She put her hand on his arm and waited for him to look at her. "Why don't you think you're smart enough to go to college? I may have only known you for a couple of days, but you seem very bright."

He smiled at her sadly. "Thanks, but like you said you don't really know me."

Kirsten was trying to think of something else to say when her phone rang. She flipped it open, but didn't speak for a few seconds. "Seth, we have _not_ been in here for forever, and you're not going to die from boredom...Yes, I can hear your father singing show tunes...fine, we'll be down in a couple of minutes."

"I'm sorry, Ryan."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I'd like to talk more about this later."

"If you want to, but talking is not going to change anything."

He paused at the door and motioned back in her office. "Thanks for showing me your office and letting me look at the blueprints. I really appreciate it."

He was looking up at her through his bangs, and Kirsten decided to take a chance. She slowly raised her hand and brushed the hair from his eyes.

"You're welcome, Ryan."

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: mentions of abuse

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine. Also, I know very little about the laws of California. Any reference to anything legal is purely the made up fiction of the author's little mind. Also, in a previous chapter I said that Ryan's father was named Larry. I have changed it to Frank to coincide with canon.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Eleven**

The Cohens and Ryan spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening back at the house. The boys occupied themselves with video games, while Sandy and Kirsten kept a close watch on them. Neither one completely trusted Ryan not to try and run away at the first opportunity.

It was about an hour before dinner when the phone rang. Sandy looked at the caller i.d. and quickly excused himself before answering. Within a few minutes he returned, and grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall.

"Honey, I've got to go by the office for awhile. I've just gotten some information on that one particular client I was telling you about earlier." He shifted his eyes in Ryan's direction.

Kirsten nodded her head in understanding. "Yes...of course...I remember. Would you like for us to wait to eat dinner until you get home?"

"If I'm not back in an hour and a half, go ahead and order."

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Good luck," she whispered in his ear.

ococococococococococococ

Sandy arrived at his office to find Dave McKinney, the private eye he'd hired, already waiting for him. Sandy couldn't help but smile when he saw the other man. Dave looked like he stepped right out of a forties mystery movie. He stood leaning against the office building wall trying his best to blend in with the surroundings. With his hat, trench coat, and cigarette dangling from his lips, the man clearly had a Bogart fascination.

"Dave," Sandy greeted and shook his hand. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you getting back to me so quickly."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen my bill." Dave chuckled heartily.

"I know your work too well to be worried. I'm sure whatever info you have for me will be more than worth it. Especially if it helps get Ryan away from his stepfather." Sandy unlocked the door. "Come on, let's go to my office."

Dave threw his still lit cigarette on the ground and walked into the building. Sandy looked around guiltily, as if someone might notice the lit cigarette, and stomped it out before following Dave inside.

Once they were seated in the seclusion of Sandy's office, Dave slid a thick manila folder across the desk. He didn't wait for Sandy to open it before describing its contents.

"Arthur W. Sykes, born January 29, 1963, was pretty much a trouble maker from day one. He joined a local gang at the age of twelve. Nothing too big at first, petty theft, things like that. According to some who knew him, as a kid, he was quite the purse snatcher.

"Let me guess," Sandy interrupted. "He wasn't the kind to knock a woman down to steal her purse. I bet he could slice through the straps without her even knowing it."

Dave looked at him quizzically. **"**Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Let's just say, I recently received a lesson in the art of how to steal women's handbags."

"This kid you want to help, he didn't try anything in front of you, did he?"

"No." Sandy shook his head. "Just the opposite. He stopped someone from stealing my wife's purse this afternoon in a parking lot."

Dave snorted in disbelief. "Talk about your ironies."

Sandy didn't appreciate Dave's tone. "Let's get back to Art."

"Sure, Sandy. Anyway, he was always in some kind of trouble. Turned eighteen in Juvie. Sentenced for stealing a car."

Sandy raised his eyebrows at the last bit of information.

"I know what you're thinking, Sandy. I heard why your kid got arrested, and I'll cover that in a couple of minutes." Dave pulled out a small notebook from his coat jacket and flipped through a few pages before continuing. **"**After Art got out of Juvie, there's your long list of low-life crimes-assault and battery, breaking and entering, drunk and disorderly conduct. The only real time he spent in prison as an adult was for armed robbery. But even though he's never been charged with dealing, word on the street is that he's the go-to guy when you need a fix. That's probably how he met the kid's mother. She was a hard-core addict, as well as an alcoholic. He moved in with her a couple of weeks after meeting her. They were married three months later, and she was found dead of an overdose three months after that."

"Was Art questioned in her death?"

"Yes, but there was no evidence to support any suspicions that it was anything other than a suicide."

"Was there any mention of a suicide note she might have left?"

"The kid is the one who found her first. He came home to find her dead in the bathroom. Art was home...asleep on the couch. Apparently he was exhausted from a full day of doing nothing, and didn't hear a thing." Dave added sarcastically. "The police questioned Ryan about a note, but he was pretty shaken up. According to the report, he didn't verbally respond to any of their questions. He was only able to shake his head yes or no. The police searched the home and didn't come up with any kind of note, but even without it, the police couldn't justify her death as anything other than a suicide. The only real mention of Art in the report was that his main concern was how he was going to afford to bury her."

Sandy closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn't known that Ryan was the one to find his mother. He wondered how much more hardship one kid could possibly take in their life.

"Tell me what you found out about Ryan."

Dave looked at Sandy and grimaced. "It's pretty bad."

"I've gathered as much over the past couple of days. I need some type of details, so I can confront Ryan and hopefully get him to tell me the truth about his life with Art."

"Okay. You've probably read his social service file."

Sandy nodded.

"Then you know the kid didn't exactly have it easy_ before _his mother's death."

Sandy nodded again.

"Well it got about hundred times worse. At least in Fresno, he had some semblance of a normal life. He went to school, he had a few friends, but all that changed when she died. Right after the funeral, and I do mean that very same day, Art packed himself and the boy up and moved to Chino. Since that day, he has had no contact with anyone but Art, and the scum he brings in the house.

Ryan has no friends and he doesn't go to school. One neighbor, an elderly widow lady, takes particular notice of his comings and goings. She says he leaves the house every morning before eight and doesn't come back until dark. She also mentioned that she has never seen him without a black eye, bruised face, or a busted lip. She mentioned that she has offered him food, but he always refuses. She says he's an extremely polite kid, but too quiet for a boy of his age."

"What else did you find out?" Sandy forced himself to ask. He was afraid he already knew the answer, but he couldn't help but keep his stomach from tying itself in knots over anticipation and dread of what he was about to hear.

"I was able to corner a couple of Art's buddies in the local bar. For a couple of rounds of cheap drinks and five hundred a piece, I was able to buy their friendship and some more information."

"Art's been teaching that kid everything he knows about lifting wallets and stealing purses from the day that boy's momma died. Once Ryan hit fifteen, he moved him up in the world to hot wiring cars. I'm afraid this weekend was not the first time he tried to steal a car. It was just the first time he got caught. They told me Art never stops bragging about the boy. Says he's got himself a virtual gold mine. He's smart, a real quick study, and damn good at what he's been taught. Mind you, he doesn't say any of this to Ryan."

"I'm telling you Sandy, I've met some low-lifes in my time, and these two buddies of Art's rate right down with the lowest, but even they say the way Art treats the boy makes them sick. He half starves him to make him do whatever he wants, and if Ryan even looks at him wrong, he wakes up on the other side of the room. The one guy said he's got the kid so scared, he's never even heard Ryan speak."

He shut his notepad. "I've documented some specific instances of abuse they witnessed in the file. I could go over them if you want, but to sum it up... he beats that poor kid like a rented mule."

Sandy swallowed hard, trying to battle the nausea that threatened to overtake him. Unable to speak for a moment, he shook his head. Composing himself, he was finally able to answer. "That's okay, Dave. I've heard enough. I'm sure you've got me enough information to have Art's custody revoked. Though, I don't know how in the hell any judge ever granted him guardianship in the first place. You would think one look at Art's past would have been more than enough evidence to place substantial doubt in his ability to take care of a young boy."

"That's the thing. I don't think he was ever granted custody."

"What do you mean?"

"I've looked at every file I could get my hands on and I can't find any record that shows proof of guardianship. I think that as soon as his mom died, Art swept that kid away so fast, no one had time to do anything, and then he was just forgotten."

"How can that be? What about his father? I realize he was in prison, but surely he would have been informed of Dawn's death. Didn't he inquire about who Ryan would be living with?"

"Frank Atwood is not going to win any Father of the Year awards. Dawn filed for divorced shortly after he was incarcerated for the last time. He refused to sign the papers until she released him from any and all parental rights and responsibilities. He claimed that Ryan's wasn't his. That she trapped him into marriage and that both she and Ryan ruined his life...not that it was much of a life to ruin, might I add."

"How about grandparents, aunts or uncles?"

"Dawn was an only child. Both of her parents died in a car accident shortly after she married Frank."

"What about Frank's family?"

"It appears that Frank married a girl just like dear old mom. She's a drunk and an addict, too."

"I don't suppose I even want to hear about his father."

"You supposed right. Frank, his dad, and his two brothers' files are mirror images of each other. All four Atwood men are mean, violent drunks with a list of criminal activity a mile long. They're all in prison as I speak in different parts of the state."

"Ryan doesn't exactly have an impressive background, does he?"

"I guess it depends on what you consider impressive. I'm afraid when his mother died, there wasn't a soul left on this earth who gave a damn about that kid."

"That changed two days ago, Dave. It's going to be a cold day in hell before I let that bastard get his hands on Ryan again." Sandy slammed his fist on the desk to emphasize his words.

"Well," said Dave. "If you need anything else..."

"I'll be sure to call."

"I guess all that's left is my fee." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Sandy.

Sandy barely glanced at the bill, before opening his top desk drawer and pulling out his checkbook. Dave looked at the checkbook in Sandy's hand, and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Uhmm, Sandy."

A sudden look of realization crossed Sandy's face.

"Oh sorry, of course. I'll have the cash first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it. I know it's a lot."

"Don't think another thing about it, Dave. After my friends in the D.A.'s office get through with Art. This..." He patted the manila folder. "Will be worth every penny."

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: Angst

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**A/N:** The past few chapters haven't been as angsty as others. However, this chapter is officially "The Return of the Angst." This was written with a heavy-hand. Seriously, bring a shovel...a big one.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Twelve**

"All right, honey. We'll see you then." Kirsten hung up the phone and turned towards Seth and Ryan, who were seated at the kitchen table.

"That was Sandy. He said he'll be home in a few minutes, and not to bother with the leftovers. He already grabbed something on the way home."

Ryan immediately stood and started clearing the table.

"Thank you, Ryan." Kirsten smiled warmly at him. "It's so nice to have someone to help around the house." She looked pointedly at Seth.

"I agree completely. It _is_ nice. In fact, I think Ryan should spend every weekend with us, to lift some of the burden fromyouof course, mother. What do you say, Ryan? You got anything planned for the next hundred or so weekends?" And without thinking, Seth clapped Ryan soundly in the middle of his back.

Ryan let out a cry of pain and lurched forward. He stumbled, grabbing a hold of the kitchen stool for support, but in doing so, he dropped the dishes he had been carrying. The second they hit the tile floor, they shattered to pieces. Ryan stared in horror at the shards of broken glass that now lay scattered all over the floor, then he looked up at Kirsten, fear evident on his face.

"I'm so very sorry. Please forgive me. I'll clean it up. I promise." He dropped to one knee and started picking up the broken pieces.

"Ryan, don't do that," Kirsten ordered. "You could cut yourself. I'll go get the broom."

"I can't let you do that. This is my mess...my fault. I should be the one to clean it up." He spoke quickly, his breathing becoming more erratic. He didn't even look at her as he continued to pick up the pieces of glass with his bare hands.

Kirsten grew increasingly concerned about Ryan. It was obvious that he was afraid of something...or more likely someone. She knelt down next to him**. "**It's okay, Ryan. They're just dishes and I know it was an accident. Let me help."

"No!" The force of his voice startled her. "You don't understand. It's my fault. It's always all my fault. I'm stupid, and lazy, and careless, and I never think about anyone but myself." Suddenly, he looked up at her and grabbed her arm. "Please don't tell Mr. Cohen," he pleaded.

As if on cue, Sandy walked into the kitchen.

"I'm home." He stopped short when he saw Kirsten and Ryan on the floor. "Whoa, what happened here?"

Kirsten thought Ryan had looked frightened before, but it did not even come close to the look of sheer terror that crossed his face the moment he heard Sandy's voice.

She should have been relieved that he had stopped picking up the broken glass, but instead he had scooted himself backwards, pressing himself into the corner of the kitchen cabinets. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head into them. He placed his arms over his head, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Ryan repeated the phrase over and over, his voice and body trembling.

"Kid," Sandy began, but got no further before Kirsten interrupted him.

"Sandy, go in the other room."

"But..."

"Just do it." Her voice left no room for argument.

Sandy knew that were times over the weekend that Ryan had been afraid of him, but never like this. He clutched his briefcase tightly. Thinking of all the horrible details it contained about Ryan' life. Looking back, he was amazed that Ryan had ever been able to gather the courage to call him after Art had thrown him out.

"Sandy, please." Kirsten's voice jolted him back to reality. Hesitant to leave, Sandy looked at the scene in front of him. It didn't feel right leaving Kirsten to pick up the pieces, both literally and figuratively. In the end, he decided the best thing to do would be to comply with Kirsten's wishes. There would be plenty of time for him to talk to both of them later. For now, Ryan needed to feel safe, and Sandy knew that his wife had more to offer Ryan at that moment than he did. Reluctantly, he nodded and left the room.

Kirsten turned her attention back to Ryan. She wished she could take him in her arms, like she used to when Seth was little and hurt. She wished she could hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. She wished she could promise him that as long as he was in her care, no one would ever hurt him again. She wished things were different.

She wondered if anyone had ever said any of those words to him. Had anyone ever promised to protect and keep this boy safe? And if she said them now, would he even be able to believe her?

She opened her mouth to say something, anything that might help, but before she could speak, she noticed a thin line of blood coming from his still clenched fists.

"Ryan, you're bleeding. Let me see your hands, please."

Until that moment Ryan had not moved, remaining huddled in the kitchen corner. When he heard Kirsten's voice, he finally looked up. His eyes frantically darted back and forth, obviously searching for Sandy. Finally, they came to a stop, resting on Kirsten's face. He looked at her, not with the fear that had been there a few minutes ago, but with wide-eyed amazement.

"Ryan, I need to see your hand."

He didn't say a word. He simply held out his hand for her inspection, his eyes still full of awe. She gently pried his hand open to discover that he had been clutching a piece of broken glass.

"Come on." She rose from the floor and took Ryan's elbow. "We need to clean this. I can't tell how deep it is. You might need stitches."

Ryan pulled his hand back, and drew it close to his chest.

"It's okay, Ryan. I said it _might _need stitches. I won't promise anything until I can get a better look." She started to lead him out of the kitchen. Before leaving, she turned to Seth. "Sweetie, could you clean this up for me, please?" She nodded to the floor.

Seth had watched the whole scene in front of him with uncharacteristic quietness. He didn't know exactly what had just happened, but he knew something was very wrong with Ryan. This was not the same guy who faced down two of Harbor's most imposing bullies the day before. So instead of his usual quick remark on child labor laws, he simply nodded his head in stunned silence.

ocococococococococ

As soon as Kirsten entered the bathroom, she turned on the sink and held Ryan's hand under the running water.

"Keep it there for a minute, while I find some bandages," she instructed. Once she found the first aid kit, she had Ryan sit down so she could get a better look at the cut.

"Good news." She smiled reassuringly at him. "It's not as deep as I thought. Antibiotic cream and bandages should be enough. I'll change the bandages and check it for infection again first thing in the morning. But unless something changes, I think you're safe from having to go to the doctor."

She kept her tone light and tried to smile at him again. She wasn't sure if he had heard a word she had said. He was still looking at her with the same expression of amazement.

"You didn't let him hit me."

"What?"

"You didn't let him hit me."

"Do you mean Sandy? Oh, Ryan, he would never..."

"My mom, she never stopped any of them." Ryan was no longer looking at her. His eyes were staring straight ahead, not really seeing anyone or anything. "Not my dad, not her boyfriends, not Art...not anyone. I think she was just glad it wasn't her. She was always so scared." He turned to look at Kirsten again. "But not you. You weren't scared at all. You stopped him _and _made him go away." He blinked twice before looking down at his bandaged hand. "Thank you."

Somehow it was the "thank you" that broke Kirsten's heart the most. She and Sandy had already suspected the abuse, but to hear Ryan express such sincere gratitude over not getting hit was almost too much.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry you've had to go through all of that. I don't want you to be scared and hurt anymore. Sandy and I want to help you." She shook her head. "No, we are _going_ to help you. But first, you need to help us. You need to tell us the truth about your stepfather and how he treats you."

Ryan quickly stood up. "There's nothing to tell."

"But you just said..."

"I didn't say anything." He tried to step around Kirsten, but she blocked his way. "Even if I did, it doesn't mean anything. I'm lucky Art kept me around after my mom died. He could have just as easily stuck me in foster care."

"Ryan, you can't possibly expect me to believe that you're "lucky" to be living with Art. Especially after what I just witnessed in the kitchen."

"I overreacted. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Once more, he tried to leave the small room to no avail.

"You don't have to lie anymore. Sandy and I _can _help you. I promise. You just need to trust us."

"I do trust you, Mrs. Cohen." He looked directly in her eyes, and spoke with more strength and conviction than she had heard all weekend. "I trust that after tomorrow, you and the rest of your family will forget all about your promises and all about me. Just like everyone else in my life has."

She was so taken back, she didn't even try to stop him from walking out the door this time.

"Ryan, stop!"

He had his hand on the patio door's handle when Kirsten's command stopped him cold. "Please," she added softly.

He slowly turned toward her. His head was bowed, but she could see he was looking at her through his bangs.

"Ryan, I need to discuss some things with Sandy, and I want you to stay here, in the house."

He took a small step backwards.

"Nothing is going to happen to you if you wait here. I'm simply going to talk to Sandy for a few minutes and then the three of us need to sit down and talk things over together."

Another small step backwards.

"I already told you there's nothing to talk about."

"I know, but I think there is. I just want to us to talk. Talk, Ryan. That's it, nothing more. Please, do this one thing for me. Will you wait here, inside with Seth? Please?"

He stood still for a moment. Thinking it over. Finally, he gave her a curt nod.

She sighed with relief. "Thank you." She turned to Seth. She hated to ask him to keep an eye on Ryan, when he was standing right there, but she saw no other choice. "Seth," she began.

"It's okay, Mom. You don't need to say anything. I've got it covered."

She smiled in appreciation and went to join Sandy in his office.

ocococococococococ

"Dude! What was that?" Seth asked, raising his arms in the air and waving his hands in the direction of the kitchen. "And don't ask what, because you know what I'm talking about. You just had a major spaz attack in our kitchen."

"It wasn't that big of a deal, Seth."

"Not that big a deal?!? You totally freaked me out."

"Sorry."

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just that yesterday you were so cool taking on both Chet and Logan, but every time you're around my dad, you act.." He paused for a second. "I don't know...nervous around him. It's like you're scared of him or something."

Seth looked at Ryan for a moment, frowning.

"You're not, are you? Scared of Dad, I mean. Because he's not exactly the type of guy to strike fear in the minions. I know that I don't know what your step-dad is like..."

At that moment, Seth got it. He felt like one of his comic book characters, when they had a light bulb go off over top of their head.

"So that's what all the talking's been about," he muttered to himself.

"What talking?"

"Both my mom and my dad have talked to me about you. How they wanted me to build Dad up, and encourage you to trust him. They wanted to know if you talked much about your step-dad. What's he like. What it's like living with him."

Ding! Another light bulb.

"Your face. The blood on your shirt yesterday. And just before you flipped out, I hit you on the back.. Ryan, does your step-dad...does he hit you?"

Ryan looked away, ashamed.

"That's it, isn't it? Your life is like some kind of after-school special."

"Yeah, my life is _real _special, all right."

"Why haven't you told someone?"

"How many times do I have to keep telling you people? There's nothing _to_ tell. Besides, even if there was, there's no one in my life I can trust."

"What about one of your teachers? I've had some pretty decent ones in my time. Maybe they could have helped. You know, found you someplace else to live...some nice, safe, happy place."

"Grow up, Seth. There are no nice, safe, happy places, where I come from. There are only dumpy group homes where nobody gives a damn about you."

"Well...I...I give a damn," said Seth a little uncomfortably. "And so do my folks. I'm sure my dad could figure something out. He's a lawyer. He should know all about this kind of stuff. I'm sure he can help you."

"I don't think so. Listen, maybe things are all that great with Art, but it's not really that big of a deal. It's nothing that I can't handle."

"I don't believe you. If you could handle it, you wouldn't have lost it on the kitchen floor."

Ryan bristled at Seth's comment. "Just drop it, Seth. You don't know what you're talking about. I said I'm fine and I am."

He turned to leave, but Seth grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me, now!"

Shocked, Seth quickly released his hold on Ryan. Ryan's tone had actually scared him.

"I'm sorry, but my mom said..."

"I know what your mom said, and you can relax. I'm not going to leave. I just...I just need some space. Okay?"

ocococococococococ

A few minutes later, Sandy and Kirsten walked into the kitchen. Kirsten's face was pale and she was holding her stomach as if trying to stop herself from being ill.

Frantically, she began to look around the room.

"Where's Ryan?"

"It's okay, Mom." Seth said from his chair by the table facing the pool house. "He said he needed some air. He went out there about fifteen minutes ago. I've been watching him ever since. He's still there."

Kirsten and Sandy breathed a sigh of relief.

"You could have told me, you know."

"Told you about what, sweetie?"

"About Ryan and how his step-dad hits him."

"He told you about that?"

"No. But the scene in the kitchen was kind of a pretty big clue. I was able to figure the rest out myself. I even asked him if it was true."

"And what did he say?"

"Pretty much what you'd expect out of Ryan. He didn't say anything." He turned to face his parents, almost glaring at them. "I'm not some little kid. I could have handled it. You should have told me the truth. He's my friend."

"We're sorry, son," Sandy said, and took a seat next to Seth. "You're right. We shouldn't have asked you to do all the things we did, without giving you our reasons why. But in our defense, we weren't positive about it ourselves."

"And you're sure now?"

"Yes. That's where I went this evening. I hired a private eye to find out more about Ryan and Art. I met with him in my office, and he told me some pretty terrible things about how Art treats Ryan."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Honestly? We're not really sure yet."

"You've got to do something. You can't let him go back there. It isn't right."

"We know that, Seth. But it isn't as easy as it should be. As much as I'd like to see Art behind bars, we've got to have Ryan's cooperation. You, your mom, me, we've all tried to talk to Ryan about his stepfather, and we've gotten nowhere. He has a lot of reason not to trust anyone. It's not going to be easy to get him to open up."

"Maybe I could try again. Maybe, he'd trust me over an adult."

Sandy smiled sadly and placed his hand on Seth's shoulder. "Thank you, son. We appreciate it, but this is something your mother and I need to deal with right now. I know it doesn't sound fair, but I want you to go upstairs."

Seth opened his mouth to protest.

"Let me explain. I understand your point that Ryan may feel more comfortable talking to you over me. However, kids in circumstances like these are often embarrassed."

"What's he got to be embarrassed about?"

"Nothing. But think about it from Ryan's point of view. For the most part, he tried to come across to you as this really cool tough guy. He doesn't want anyone to know the truth about what his step-dad does to him. It's probably very hard for him to admit that he's that vulnerable. I promise we won't keep any more secrets from you about Ryan. But I think it's best if you wait upstairs while we talk to him."

"Well, okay. But just to let you know, since we're not supposed to be keeping secrets about Ryan, I'm planning on eavesdropping at the top of the stairs and I'm coming down if I think you, or more importantly, Ryan needs me."

Sandy chuckled softly to himself. "I already knew that, but thank you. It's very reassuring to know you're close."

Sandy and Kirsten watched their son leave.

"I'm pretty proud of our son sometimes, honey."

"Me, too," Kirsten replied and gave her husband a quick hug. "Do you want me to go get Ryan?"

"No. You'd better let me do it."

"But he's scared of you."

"I know. I know. I still think it would be best if I go. If he's going to trust me enough to help him, he's got to trust me enough to at least walk across the patio alone with him. Don't worry, like Seth, I know you're only a few feet away if I need help."

ocococococococococ

Sandy knocked on the pool house doors. He could see Ryan lying down on the bed, his back facing the doorway. He knocked once more before entering and sitting down on the nearest wicker chair.

"Hey, kid."

No movement from the bed.

"Come one, kid. I know you're not asleep. Seth said you've only been out here a few minutes and it's not even ten o'clock yet."

Still no movement.

"All right, then. If this is how you want to be, so be it. We're going to have a talk - about a lot of things. This talk will include your knowledge of purse snatching, car stealing, and without a doubt, this talk will include your stepfather and his treatment of you. This little fake-sleeping act of yours is giving you about a nine hour reprieve from that talk, but believe you me, it's going to happen. Tomorrow morning, whether you like it or not, we _are_ going to have a very long discussion, and you will be expected to talk...a lot, and answer our questions. Got it?"

Ryan remained motionless.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Sandy said as he stood up. "Oh, and by the way, Kirsten and I know you were planning on running away last night."

Sandy saw Ryan's shoulders stiffen.

"And just to let you know, I wouldn't get any similar ideas for tonight. You may have noticed that this pool house is pretty much entirely made of glass. And if you look straight ahead, you can see our bedroom, which also has a wall of glass. We have a lovely view of the ocean, the pool, and this pool house. We will be keeping an eye on you tonight, and just in case that's not enough, I'm letting the guards at the gate know that they are to call me if you get within twenty feet of the gates."

He walked to the door.

"Good night, Ryan. Sleep well. We'll talk in the morning."

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: Angst, minor swearing

**Beta: **loracj2. I did some more tweaking after she looked at it. So if you find any punctuation mistakes they are entirely my fault.

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**A/N:** Hope you still have the shovel from the last chapter.

**Special Thanks:** Big hugs to katwoman76 and themusrevenge. For different reasons, they both read the next two chapters before I posted, and both of them came up with very valid points that I had missed or not thought of. Hopefully, my changes are to their liking and have made the chapters better.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Thirteen**

Ryan was exhausted.

The deep feeling of dread that had plagued him throughout the night was still with him as he awoke from a restless slumber.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to discover that the weather seemed to match his dark mood. The usually bright and sunny southern California sky was slowly filling with grey storm clouds. Ryan couldn't help but wonder if it was a sign for what lay ahead of him that day.

Due to the gloominess of the morning, he was unable to tell how late he had slept. He rolled over onto his side, checked the time, and let out a loud groan. It was already seven-thirty. He knew he couldn't hide out in the pool house for much longer. The Cohens were bound to be awake by now. And if last night's talk with Mr. Cohen was any indication, they would soon be seeking him out. He groaned again and rolled back onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow.

He had spent the better part of the night worrying about the upcoming talk he and the Cohens were supposed to have this morning. Until late in the evening he had watched the lights in the Cohens' bedroom, hoping that Mr. Cohen had been exaggerating about keeping such a close eye on him. But he had been true to his word, and the lights had never gone out. Ryan felt that it was only safe to assume that he had also been telling the truth about the guards at the front gate.

For what was possibly the thousandth time, Ryan wondered how he got himself into this mess. He supposed it all started with trying to steal the car. He was still unsure of what exactly had gone wrong. He was always so careful. He vaguely remembered his father complaining of the "Atwood luck". At the time, he had been too young to understand what his father was talking about, but now the meaning was all too clear. How else could you explain why a cop would pick the exact moment Ryan was jimmying the lock to drive by? Most of the time even the cops shied away from that area of town, especially late at night. He should have tried to run. Instead, he stood there in shock and disbelief and let them arrest him. If only he had tried, maybe he could have gotten away. Then he would have never met Sandy Cohen and became so tangled in Art's web of lies.

Looking back, he wished he hadn't made the phone call to Mr. Cohen. If he had been smart, he would have lied to Art and told him Mr. Cohen turned him down. Unfortunately, he was a terrible liar. Art would never have believed him. Although the punishment would have been severe, it would be nothing in comparison to what awaited him now. He got the sinking feeling that had already called social services. If that were true, Art was going to be beyond furious. Art hated them. He constantly warned Ryan to never get outsiders involved in his business. If a bunch of do-gooders showed up at the house and started asking questions...Ryan shivered, not wanting to think about the consequences.

He slowly sat up, minding his still aching back and sore muscles. There was no point in putting off the unavoidable any longer. He might as well start getting ready to face Mr. Cohen. In some odd way it would be a relief to get it over with. At least then, he would know exactly how much the Cohens knew about him _and _Art. And what, if anything, they had already done with that information. He could prepare himself for how much trouble he was going to be in for once he finally returned to Chino.

He was surprised to see a set of clean clothes folded neatly on the wicker chair in front of him. It was the same chair Sandy had sat in the previous evening, so he knew someone, most likely Mrs. Cohen, had come in while he slept. It was further proof of how badly he needed to get out of this place. A mere two days ago, he would have never let his guard down enough to sleep through someone entering his room without his knowing it.

He looked at the neatly folded stack and frowned. He wanted to wear his own clothes. He had never truly felt comfortable wearing Mr. Cohen's. Maybe if he was in his own stuff, he might feel more at ease when the time came to face them. He could certainly use a little help in that area. The sick feeling in his stomach was growing by the second.

The trouble was, he couldn't wear his tank top. It showed too many of the bruises and welts on his shoulders, and he couldn't use the hoodie to cover them. With the coming storm, the air had turned especially warm and humid. The jacket would only lead to more questions he knew he could never answer.

Also, he didn't want to offend Mrs. Cohen. She had gone to the trouble of finding the clothes for him. So few people had ever been nice to him, he didn't want to appear ungrateful. He thought for a moment longer. In the end, he opted to go with his clothes, but he wore Mr. Cohen's shirt on top of his own tank top. He slowly walked to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn't regret the decision.

Carefully, he stripped off the shirt he had slept in. Checking his back in the mirror, he was relieved to see that although it wasn't any better, it didn't appear to be getting any worse. The same was true for his hand. It was sore, but as opposed to his back, it was showingno signs of infection. He picked up the previous day's pants off the floor and starting rooting through the pockets until he found the bottle of Tylenol. He popped off the top and took another handful of the tablets before showering. On top of all of his other worries, he didn't need to add a trip to the doctor.

ocococococococococ

Kirsten was exhausted.

She supposed being on the verge of tears half the night would do that to a person.She rubbed her eyes and thought of all the things she had learned about Ryan in the past twelve hours.

When Sandy had first shown her the files, she was shocked to read the reports of Ryan's vast experience stealing. She knew Sandy had met him in jail because of attempting to steal a car. But after meeting Ryan, and spending time with him, the picture the reports painted of him and the boy in her pool house simply did not match.

Before Sandy urged her to keep reading, she was ashamed to admit that some of her initial distrust for Ryan had returned. Then came the stories of the abuse. She wished she had never read them. After Ryan's reaction to breaking a glass in the kitchen, it left absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was abused, but to read detailed accounts was another matter. She couldn't imagine treating a child that way. What kind of man was his step-father? How could he have done that to Ryan? Her breaking point had been when she had discovered that the man had used food as a means of controlling Ryan. For the first time in her life, she honestly believed she could physically harm another human being.

After Sandy had returned from the pool house the night before, and it was obvious that they would not be talking with Ryan that night, the two of them had retired to their bedroom to discuss what was to be done about Ryan. She knew what Sandy wanted. He wanted Ryan to stay with them, but she wasn't sure.

Agreeing to watch out for him was one thing. Taking him into their home permanently was an entirely different matter. She wanted to help Ryan. She wanted to make sure he was someplace safe. Someplace where people cared cared about him. Just not here...not yet anyway.

He had only entered their lives three days ago, and Kirsten didn't want to rush into anything. She liked to always weigh her options and think each scenario through.

It had taken weeks of her college roommate's badgering to finally agree to the blind date with Sandy. Although she had been pleasantly surprised to discover it was the same boy she had met before handing out political pamphlets, it had still taken Sandy another two weeks to convince her to go out again. She had even climbed out a fire escape to avoid him. He proposed four times before she said yes, even though she had known he was the one after that second date.

She wasn't sure she wanted another child in the house. Being a parent was a huge responsibility. She remembered how she wrestled with the idea of getting pregnant after a year of marriage. Sandy had wanted to start a family right away, but she thought they should wait awhile. She still hadn't decided when they went away for the weekend and she had forgotten her pills. She always wondered if Sandy had taken matters into his own hands and removed them from her bag, but she had never wanted to know badly enough to question him.

Plus, there was the fact that they lived in Newport. Besides college and the few years before her mother became ill, she had always lived here. She loved it and it was her home, but she wasn't blind to its faults. She knew the people were far from accepting outsiders. The incident with Marcie in the club yesterday was proof of that.

They wouldn't be able to hide Ryan's past forever. Sooner or later someone would find out. They always did. Then what? He had already been through so much in his life, was it fair to him to subject him to the constant snide remarks of Newports' finest?

And she didn't even want to think about what her father would say.

Sandy said group homes weren't permanent. They could give it a couple of months. Have Ryan spend the weekends with them. He would have time to adjust to a more normal lifestyle, and they would all have time to get to know each other better.

She liked Ryan. She already cared a great deal about him. She could even see herself growing to love him, but not yet. It was simply too soon. She just needed a little more time.

It would all work out in the end. She was doing the right thing for everyone involved, especially Ryan. She tried to convince herself that was true as she prepared the second pot of coffee for the morning.

ocococococococococ

Ryan stood just outside the patio doors, studying Kirsten. He was relieved to see that Sandy was nowhere to be seen. Her back was turned, and she didn't see him watching her. She appeared to be busy making coffee. He watched her for a minute longer. It was a habit he had picked up at a very young age. He could usually tell the mood of the men in the house by his mother's actions. Kirsten appeared distracted, but not angry, and certainly not afraid. Ryan took that as a good sign and opened the doors.

Kirsten jumped slightly. "Ryan," she said, startled.

"I'm sorry. I should have knocked. Seth said it was okay if..."

"No, it's not that. Of course, you can come in any time. You don't have to wait to be invited. I'm just a little..." She searched for the proper word. "Preoccupied this morning."

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, me too."

She smiled sympathetically at him.

"Why don't you sit down?" She handed him a glass of juice. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No thanks. Juice is fine. I'm not very hungry."

Kirsten frowned, and her thoughts returned to the information in the file in her bedroom . His answer did little to ease her concerns about his health.

Ryan took note of her unhappy expression. He couldn't afford to get on her bad side this morning. "I'm sorry. I'll eat something if you want me to."

"That's all right, Ryan. I know you're feeling a bit anxious this morning. You can eat later." She noticed that he purposefully kept his injured hand under the table, no doubt hoping that she had forgotten about it.

"Let me have a look at your hand. I've already got the first aid kit ready."

"It's fine, Mrs. Cohen. I checked it out before I took a shower."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I still want to see it for myself." She took a hold of his hand. "Well, for one thing, you're going to need clean bandages. You re-used the ones from yesterday." She slowly unwrapped his hand and studied the wound. "You were right. It looks like it's doing fine. I'll just re-apply the antibiotic cream and wrap it again and you should be good until the next time I pester you about it."

He tried to smile at her attempted humor, but he didn't quite make it.

Her heart went out to him. No doubt he was a bundle of nerves. She decided that perhaps Ryan needed a little pre-talk-talkShe knew he trusted her at least a little. Maybe if she let him know he had nothing to fear, he would calm down.

"Listen, Ryan."

He sat up stiffly in his chair.

"I know you're a little...apprehensive about us talking this morning. I just want you to know that you have nothing to worry about." She could see the tension in him rising. "Just hear me out. I know that in your past you've had some experiences with men who like to use violence against women and children." He bristled at the last word. "I'm sorry. I realize that you're not a child, but I think you know what I mean. I just want to let you know that Sandy is not like that. He's not like any man you've ever met before." She smiled wistfully. "He's not like any man _I've_ ever met before." Shaking her head, she returned her concentration to Ryan. "What I'm trying to say is that there _are _good guys out there. And Sandy, he's the best of the best." She studied Ryan's face, trying to see if any of what she had said seemed to be sinking in. She couldn't tell. "All I'm saying is thatyou don't need to be afraid. I told you last night, we just want to talk to you. That's it. No one in this house is going to hurt you. Okay?"

Ryan stared at his newly bandaged hand, saying nothing.

Kirsten tried to keep her frustration in check. "All right. I understand that you don't have a lot of reason to trust us, but you'll find out soon enough that I'm telling the truth. Come on, Sandy should be out of the shower and dressed by now. Seth's still sleeping, but we decided it would be best if we talked in our bedroom. There'll be less chance of interruption in there."

Just as she stood, the phone rang. She glanced at the number and silently cursed.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry. It's my father. I have to answer. I'll only be a minute. Why don't you go on back to the bedroom? I'll be right behind you."

As Ryan walked down the hallway, he could hear Kirsten talking to her father.

"Dad, this isn't a good time for me...We're having a bit of a family emergency...No, I'm fine...Seth's fine, too...If by that "bushy-eyed, bleeding-heart liberal"

you mean Sandy, my husband, then yes, he's fine too...I really don't want to get into it right now, Dad... Fine, you have five minutes."

He slowed his pace. From the sound of things, she wouldn't be coming any time soon. The closer he got to the bedroom, the more nervous he became. Two days ago, he would have been thrilled at getting a better look at the house, especially the Cohens' bedroom. But that was then. Now, trying to figure out how to steal from these people was the furthest thing from his mind.

When he first woke up, he had been mainly concerned with Art's reaction to people asking about their lives. He had wondered about how much the Cohens may already know about his life, and what they were planning on doing about it. They way he saw it at the end of the day he would either be facing Art's wrath or in a social service office waiting to go to a group home.

He truly hadn't been all that worried about what Mr. Cohen might do to him, until Mrs. Cohen mentioned it. After all, it was pretty obvious that he was mad at him last night and he hadn't done anything to him. Ryan could tell he had been close to losing his temper when he had pretended to be asleep. Mr. Cohen had probably spent all night thinking about everything Ryan had done over the past weekend, and was even more angry this morning

Suddenly, Ryan wished that he had just gotten the talk over with the night before. At least Mrs. Cohen would have been right there with him. She'd stopped Mr. Cohen once, and from the way she talked she could do it again. Now, she was on the other side of the house. He wouldn't have anyone to serve as a buffer. He stood outside the bedroom for just a moment, staring at the door, trying to gather his courage. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

ocococococococococ

Sandy was exhausted.

Between keeping an eye on the pool house and trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say to Ryan this morning, he hadn't gotten a moment's sleep the entire night. He should have been in the kitchen fifteen minutes ago, instead of still standing in his closet trying to finish getting dressed.

He kept replaying what he wanted to tell Ryan in his mind. It wasn't easy...telling a kid that you planned on turning his life upside down, even if it was for his own good.

He was worried about what Ryan's reaction. He didn't doubt that Ryan would deny everything. He had done it countless times already. Sandy was prepared for that. He had kept the file from Dave in the bedroom, instead of taking it in his office.

But what would Ryan do when he confronted him with the truth, and had the proof to back it up?

Would he breakdown and confess everything?

Not likely.

Would he lash out at Sandy for digging too deep?

It was a possibility. Ryan was afraid of him, but that might not stop him if he was backed into a corner.

He could try and run.

That was the most likely scenario. Ryan was very good at running from the truth. It wouldn't be a big step to graduate to running from people.

It was a fine line Sandy was going to have to walk and he knew it. He would have to weigh every word he said to Ryan that morning.

Telling Ryan he would have to go to a group home was going to be the biggest obstacle. That was not going to go over well. Ryan's life may have been most people's idea of a living hell, but Sandy doubted he would think much better of living with a bunch of strangers.

Unless the strangers were them.

Sandy had done his best to try and convince Kirsten that they should be the ones to take care of Ryan. From the beginning of the conversation, it was obvious he was fighting a losing battle. He knew his wife too well.

Sometimes it baffled him. She could make business decisions involving millions of dollars in a manner of seconds, but if it was personal, forget it. She would need time. Time that they didn't have right now.

If only they could put off talking with Ryan for a few more days, she would change her mind. He just knew it. Her capacity to love was amazing. After all, she had put up with him for almost twenty years, and her father for even longer.

He had watched her with Ryan. He had seen how protective she was of him, and how much she cared. If Ryan stayed until the end of the week, she would never let him go.

ocococococococococ

"Mr. Cohen."

Sandy heard Ryan's voice coming from outside the bedroom.

"It's me, Ryan. Mrs. Cohen had a phone call. She told me we were going to um, talk, in here."

_Damn. _It had to have been Caleb. She would have never have let anyone else distract her from this morning's talk. Sandy added it to the list of the reasons why he couldn't stand the man.

Temporarily taken aback by this new twist, he tried to take a minute to regroup his thoughts. He had planned on her being there during their talk. Just because she wasn't ready to commit to being Ryan's guardians, didn't mean he didn't want her with him.

So often during their marriage, Sandy would fly off the handle about something. He always let his emotions get in the way. Kirsten was his voice of reason. Their ying-yang personalities always seemed to work best with parenting Seth. He had hoped the same would hold true with this morning's talk with Ryan.

Sandy knew Ryan trusted Kirsten more than him. That had been become painfully obvious to him in the kitchen last night. He couldn't get the image of Ryan huddled on the floor out of his mind. It had been Kirsten that had calmed the boy down. It had been Kirsten whom he had first confided in about his home-life. It had been accident, but the fact that Ryan had let his guard down around Kirsten enough to even speak of his past spoke volumes.

Damn, but he needed her there with him. Sandy shook his head. He couldn't keep Ryan waiting. The kid had to be going out of his mind worrying about what they were going to say to him.

"Ryan, come on in." Sandy cried out. "I"ll just be a second."

He grabbed his belt and stepped out of the closet.

Ryan froze. They had lied to him. He shouldn't have been surprised. He should have known it would eventually to come to this. Everyone he had ever known had lied to him. Why should he have expected anything else? This place, this man, they weren't any different. He had been an idiot to think that they could be.

He wrapped his arms around his mid-section, and for the second time in two days he backed himself into a corner and waited for the worst.

Sandy wasn't looking at him when he started talking speaking. "I just want to say I'm sorry about last night, kid. I think I came across as a little too..."He stopped and looked at Ryan standing in the corner. "Harsh," he finished. He stared at Ryan in confusion. He couldn't believe what he saw. What could he have possibly done to scare Ryan so badly?

"Ryan? Are you okay? What's wrong, kid?"

For just a moment, Ryan looked up. The boy's normally blue eyes were black with fear.

Sandy saw his eyes quickly dart to the belt before dropping his gaze to the floor once again. Sandy looked at his belt and dropped it as if it were on fire.

"Oh, kid, you thought..." Sandy closed his eyes and cursed his luck and his thoughtlessness. "I was just finishing getting dressed. I've told you before, I don't hit, ever, for any reason." He walked over to Ryan. "Come on. You need to sit down." He tried to put his arm around the boy's shoulder, but Ryan recoiled from his touch. "I'm not going to hurt you. If I was, wouldn't I have done it already?"

Ryan thought for a moment. Experience had taught him that adults did whatever they wanted to him. It never mattered what he did to try and stop them. With his arms still wrapped around his stomach, he took a small step forward.

Sandy took that as a good sign. He put his arm around Ryan. He could feel the tremors that still shook the boy's body.

Sandy led him to the settee. "Sit down, please."

Ryan obeyed. He sat hunched over, almost managing to curl himself into a ball. He didn't look up when Sandy began to speak.

"This is exactly why we need to talk." Sandy took a seat next to Ryan, hoping that if they were on the same level, he wouldn't appear as threatening. "This...this needs to stop. You can't go on like this. I hate to see you afraid all the time. I can help you, if you'll just give me the chance."

"I'm fine. I don't need anyone's help."

"Ryan, look at me." Ryan raised his eyes, but refused to meet Sandy's. "I _know_, Ryan. I know everything."

Sandy could have sworn he heard Ryan snort before saying, "You don't know anything, Mr. Cohen."

"Yeah, kid. I do." Sandy rose and retrieved his briefcase. Sitting back down, he pulled out two files, Ryan's social services file and the one he had received from Dave the day before. He handed Ryan the social service file first. "This is your file from social services. It documents all the times they were called to your house while your mother was still alive. I know your father beat you, as well as your mother's countless boyfriends."

"They never proved a thing."

"Because you and your mother refused to cooperate, most likely out of fear."

Ryan gripped the folder tightly, wrinkling its edges.

"Do you want to open it?"

"Why? I already know what's inside." His eyes darted back and forth, still refusing to meet Sandy's. "What's this got to do with me now?"

"Everything. It's your past and it's shaped who you are now. I believe it's a huge part of the reason you won't let yourself trust me. Everyone who tried to help you back then," Sandy tapped the folder, "let you down. I don't think they meant to, but that doesn't change matters. You've heard nothing but empty promises your whole life. Your mom, the system, they let you down. Someone should have protected you and no one did. That wasn't right."

"I still don't get what this means now. You said yourself it's the past. Everything in here has to do with when my mom was still alive. Well, now she's dead, I live with Art, and I'm willing to bet that he's not mentioned in here."

"It states that he was married to your mother at the time of her death, but you're right, other than that, there is no mention of him. However," Sandy raised the other file in the air. "This one does. Ryan, when I said that I knew everything, I meant it. I hired a private detective to investigate you and Art."

This got Ryan's attention. He jerked his head up, finally looking at Sandy. Sandy tried to read his expression. If he had to guess, he supposed it was somewhere between fear and confusion.

"He was able to find out quite a bit of information about the two of you."

Ryan narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Like what?"

"Like the reason you know so much about purse snatching is because you're quite the expert yourself. I hear you're not too shabby at lifting wallets either."

Just like Sandy thought, Ryan attempted to bolt. In anticipation of the move, Sandy had already placed his hand on the boy's arm. He gently, but firmly held Ryan in place.

"Hold on there, kid. You're not going anywhere. Your time of running and hiding from the truth is over."

This time there was no denying the fear on the boy's face.

"And just so you know, I found out that Friday night wasn't your first attempt at stealing a car. From what I understand, Art has a pretty cushy life. You do all the dirty work. You take all the risks while he sits back and reaps the rewards."

"How? Who?" Ryan stammered. "I mean...nobody would dare rat on Art."

"Well for one, you have an elderly neighbor who isn't particularly fond of him."

"Mrs. Garcia," Ryan muttered to himself.

"You should also realize that men like Art and his buddies can't ever really be trusted. They can be and _were_ easily bought. For a price, two of Art's friends told the detective everything. And Ryan, I do mean everything."

"What," Ryan swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "What are you going to do about it? Will I have to go back to Juvie?"

Sandy tried to pat Ryan's knee in hopes to reassure him, but this time Ryan jumped away before he could make contact.

"No, kid. You don't need to worry. You're not in any trouble. I'll make sure of that. I want you to know that we understand that Art forces you to do all of those things against your will."

This time it was Sandy who couldn't quite meet Ryan's eyes.

"Those friends of Art's, the ones who told about the stealing, that's not all they talked about. They mentioned some other things." Sandy took a deep breath. "About the way he treats you. About the way he...hits you." Sandy turned to face Ryan once again, but Ryan had turned away, his face red with shame. "It's not your fault, kid. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I've seen Art. You're just a kid, most grown men wouldn't stand much of a chance against him. You were helpless. You had to do what he wanted. Ryan, you need to realize that _you're_ the victim here."

_Helpless? Victim? Who did Mr. Cohen think he was?_ He'd only met the man four days ago. Ryan didn't give a damn what those files said. Mr. Cohen was still clueless. He couldn't possibly understand what his life was really like. Sure, maybe he didn't or couldn't stand up to Art. And yes, he was afraid of him. He couldn't deny that. But Mr. Cohen was making him sound so...pathetic. He didn't need to feel any worse about himself than he already did. He was leaving and no one was going to stop him.

He jumped up, this time catching Sandy off guard.

"Mr. Cohen, I appreciate everything you've done for me this weekend. I really do. But I think it's time I go back to Chino, back to where I belong."

"Ryan, haven't you been listening to me? You're not going back to Chino. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever."

"No, you need to listen to me. This doesn't change anything." He pointed to the files that now lay on the floor. "You don't even have any real proof. So a couple of Art's buddies told your detective some stories. I'm guessing he found them in a bar and they were probably drunk at the time. You said yourself you can't trust guys like them. Who's to say they didn't make it all up just to earn a quick buck?"

Sandy stood up and took a step closer toward him, but Ryan backed away, moving closer to the door.

"Come on, kid. You and I both know they were telling the truth."

"The truth? The only truth I know that is that the one person in this world I can depend on is me. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it my whole life. I don't need you to save me."

And with that Ryan stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned Sandy behind, wondering where the conversation had gone so horribly wrong.

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: Angst, minor wearing

**Beta: **loracj2 Once again, I have changed and added a few paragraphs after she checked it. Any grammatical or punctuation errors are entirely the fault of the author.

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey

**A/N: **Once again, any legal references in this chapter are purely for the fictional purposes of this story. I know nothing of the legal system Except for the small fact that not wearing a seat belt will cost you $55. whistles innocently

**Special Thanks:** katwoman76 and themusrevenge each looked over this chapter for different reasons. They both had extremely valid points about parts of this chapter that needed added to or fixed. I hope the revisions meet with their approvals.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Fourteen**

Ryan didn't see Kirsten or hear her calling his name as he rushed past her and out of the house. He flung open the pool house doors and frantically began looking for his leather jacket and backpack.

He didn't need this. He didn't want to see that look of pity the Cohens kept giving him ever again. He didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. He could take care of himself.

_Where was that damn jacket_? He pushed one of the chairs, hoping it had fallen beneath it. He knew it was stupid to be wasting time looking for the jacket. He should have just made a break for it.He'd seen the guards at the front gate. They were all middle-aged and fat. He could outrun any of them with little to no problem.

He had to figure out what to do once he was past the gates. Mr. Cohen would come looking for him. If he had been in Chino, there was the chance he could hitch, and make a fast getaway, but he sincerely doubted Newport was big on hitchhikers. No, once he was past the gates, he was just going to have to lay low and hide until he had darkness on his side. He only hoped the rain would pass by.

Thinking about Mr. Cohen made Ryan pause for a moment. Why was this family so determined to help him? Why couldn't they understand he didn't need anyone's help? He'd been doing fine his whole life. Okay, maybe fine was stretching it, but he'd survived and that was enough.

The Cohens had only known him for one lousy weekend. They must want something from him, though he couldn't figure out what that could be. They had more than enough money, so they didn't want him around for the same reasons Art did. Maybe they were like some of those rich people who volunteered all of the time. The ones who felt guilty because they had so much. But Mr. Cohen had already told him that it was his wife that made the money. Any guilty feelings they had over being so rich should have been taken care of by Mr. Cohen's job as a public defender.

The only other option Ryan could come up with was that they really did care about what happened to him. But they couldn't...no one else ever had. They probably felt sorry for him. They were just being nice and being nice didn't mean anything. It didn't give them the right to butt into his business.

If only they had been normal. If they'd just been like everyone else in his life, he'd be in Chino right now. He'd be back where he knew what to expect out of people. All of these questions wouldn't be constantly plaguing his mind and clouding his judgment.

Ryan had been shocked to hear that the Cohens had hired a private detective to look into his life. No one had ever gone to that much trouble for him before. From the looks of the Cohens' lifestyle, they didn't do anything cheaply. Whoever they got was probably very expensive and very good at what they did. It was the only explanation for Mr. Cohen finding out about so much about him, specifically his experience stealing.

Even before his talk with Sandy, Ryan had doubts about stealing from the Cohens. He kept finding it harder and harder to fathom stealing from people who had been so kind to him. However, as hard as it might have been to imagine stealing from them, it would be much worse to deal with Art's reaction if he refused. But now he didn't have a choice. There was no way he could go through with Art's plan.

Ryan didn't know what he was going to tell Art. If the Cohens' house was burglarized, they would be sure to put two and two together and come up with Ryan as the thief. Their kindness and their patience with him would come to an abrupt stop. There would be no getting out of Juvie this time.

Damn the detective and Art's friends for not being able to keep their mouths shut.

Suddenly, it occurred to Ryan that Mr. Cohen had been right about one thing. He couldn't go back to Chino today or ever again. By now Art's friends, most likely Al and Nate, had sobered up long enough to tell Art about the conversation they'd had with the detective. They would leave out the details making them look bad, but Art would still know that someone had been asking about him. Art was going to kill him, literally.

Now the question was what exactly _was _he going to do. Going back to Chino would be like signing his own death certificate. He needed to calm down and think. He needed a plan.

_Vegas_. He'd always hoped that someday after he turned eighteen and no one could make him go back to Art, he would head to Vegas. He'd never been there, but he'd seen pictures. It always looked like a place he where could easily blend into the background. For once in his life, maybe he could truly become invisible.

He needed to be careful. He could make it on his own once he got to Vegas, but getting there was going to be a problem. He couldn't afford to get caught. This time it would be harder to runaway than when he had been a little kid. Art hadn't even been looking for him when the cops picked him up. By now, Art was probably beginning to wonder where he was at. Ryan had thought he would be back in Chino by now, surely Art had thought so too. He and his friends were bound to be looking for him by now. If by some slim chance, talking to Al and Nate hadn't given Art the desire to kill Ryan, catching him running away would.

Then there was the problem with the Cohens. He couldn't be sure that they wouldn't have the cops looking for him. Between Art, his buddies, the Cohens, and the cops he was constantly going to have to be watching his back.

He'd have to be smarter than he was the last time. But then again, he'd only been twelve. He'd learned a lot these past three years.

A bus would be the quickest way to get out of town, but also the riskiest. It would be the first place Art and the cops would look for him. He'd have to try and get at least a couple of hours away before chancing going to a bus station, and even then it would be dangerous. He'd hide during the day and travel at night, making sure to stay away from the highways and interstates. He would be decreasing any chances he had of being able to hitchhike, but it was his only choice.

Money was the next big problem. In his original plan, the one where he had time to plan before running away, he had hoped to be able to hide money from Art. He wanted a clean start, and not to begin a new life as nothing more than a petty criminal.

Picking pockets wouldn't exactly help him stay under the cops' radar, but it couldn't be helped. He didn't have a dime to his name.

Just like the bus station, he would have to wait until he was farther away before attempting anything. It meant going a few days without eating, but he was used to that. At first, he would only need enough for a bus ticket. Then, once he got to Vegas, he would steal only enough to help him get started...a couple of meals, a cheap place to stay for a few days. After that, no more. He swore it.

It was a risky plan, but he had nothing to lose. He shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that. He had to stay focused, stay positive. He was finally going to be his own man. Free from everything and everyone. He was going to be just fine. Or at least he would be once he found his jacket.

On a last ditch effort to find it before leaving he looked under the bed. _Finally!_ He found it. He'd forgotten he'd hidden it there after stealing Seth's alarm. Now he could get out of here.

He pulled Mr. Cohen's borrowed shirt over the top of his head.

"Oh my God."

Ryan spun around to see Kirsten standing in the doorway looking horrified, her hands covering her mouth.

Damn. Damn. Damn Why hadn't he just left? He'd only been in the pool house a couple of minutes, but he had known every moment counted, and those precious minutes had been a few too many. Damn jacket, he could have just replaced it. What had he been thinking? Maybe Art was right about him. Maybe he really was just that stupid.

"Ryan, your shoulders."

"It's nothing, Mrs. Cohen."

"Don't tell me it's nothing. I saw it. You're covered in welts. Is the rest of your back?" She stopped, unable to finish the question. She couldn't quite believe what she had just seen.

"Yes. I mean no. I mean..." He sighed. "It doesn't matter. It's not really that big of a deal. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore. Can't you forget you ever saw it?"

"No, Ryan, I can't just forget about it. You're hurt. Turn around and let me see."

"No." Ryan shook his head. "You've been nicer to me than anyone else in my entire life, but I can't do that. I've got to leave. Right now."

He made a move for the door.

"Not a chance." Kirsten moved so that she stood directly in front of him. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I can not and will not let you go."

If it had been Sandy, he would have tried to push past him. But he couldn't do that to Kirsten. She could fall. He might hurt her. Besides the occasional street fight, he had never deliberately hurt anyone in his life, especially a woman. He wasn't about to start now.

He couldn't believe he had managed to get himself trapped again.

"Ryan, we weren't done talking." Sandy rushed into the pool house. He looked at Ryan and then at Kirsten. "Honey, is everything all right in here?"

"Not hardly," she answered. "Ryan was trying to run away. And did you know about his back?"

"His back? What about his back?"

"Ryan, turn around and show Sandy what I'm talking about, please."

Ryan didn't see any point in arguing. He turned around and tried not to jerk away when he felt his shirt slowly being lifted. He heard a sharp intake of breath and knew it was Kirsten. All Sandy could muster was a muffled, "Oh, kid."

"Ryan," Kirsten began. He felt her cool soft touch on his skin. "Some of these are infected. A simple first aid kit won't be enough. You need to see a doctor."

He quickly turned around.

"I can't see a doctor. I don't have any insurance or money."

"We'll pay for it."

"You don't understand," he replied desperately. "If I go to the doctor, they'll call the police and social services. Then there'll be all kinds of reports. I'm not going to tell them what you want me to. I'll tell them I fell down the steps or off my bike. But they'll still take pictures of me. I _hate_ those pictures. Please don't make me go."

Kirsten stared into his pleading eyes, and felt herself begin to melt. As sorry as she was to admit it, Ryan's back was exactly what Sandy had said they needed last night. They would have concrete proof of Art's abuse, which was crucial part in being able to put the man behind bars. However, if Ryan refused to cooperate, what good would dragging him to the doctor do? It certainly wouldn't help them gain his trust. She wasn't willing to just let the wounds on his back go. She knew they needed medical attention. She had to come up with another solution.

"I'll call Susan."

"Who?"

"Susan Andrews, our neighbor, she's the doctor I mentioned the other day." Kirsten glanced at her watch. "She probably hasn't left for work yet. I'll ask her if she can come over here and take a look at you. If she can prescribe something for you without you having to go in, we won't take you. However, if she believes you need further treatment, you will be going to the emergency room or wherever she thinks you should go. Is that a deal?"

He knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter, but he nodded his head yes anyway.

"I'll go call her now."

"Wait a minute, please." Sandy reached out to stop her. "As you've probably already figured out, our talk didn't go as well as I had hoped. We still have some things that need to be discussed. I would really like it if you stayed and continued with us this time."

She rubbed his arm.

"You're right. Of course I'll stay. There will be enough time to call Susan after we talk. I need to be here."

Sandy smiled at his wife to show his appreciation, before motioning to the bed. "Have a seat, kid."

Sandy waited until Ryan sat down.

"I don't know exactly what happened back in the house. I do know, however, that it couldn't have been easy hearing those things about your life, and I'm sorry if I upset or offended you. I wish there was some way we could have this talk without having to bring up all the abuse you've had to endure in your life, and I really wish you hadn't had to go through it all in the first place. But Ryan, everything I said back there was the truth. There's no denying it now, not after what Kirsten and I just saw."

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "So what happens now? I won't testify against Art. I can't. There's no way I can sit in some court room and tell about everything that's happened in the past three years with him sitting right there. I won't do it. I'm sorry."

"You were right before when you said that Art's friends' stories won't hold up. The odds of them cooperating when they're sober are slim to none, and even if they did, it's all hearsay. I'm afraid you're pretty much it, kid. I promised you I would make sure you won't get into trouble for what Art has made you do and I mean it. However, just because you're a minor doesn't mean Art's lawyer would take it easy on you. He would do his best to discredit everything you said." Sandy patted Ryan's knee and gave it a slight squeeze. "I want you to understand that I don't blame you if you won't help put him away. God knows you've been through enough."

"So you're saying if I don't help you, nothing is going to happen to him?"

"That's right. His life will be no different than it is now, except without you around he'll have to come up with a new way to supplement his drug money. Maybe he'll find another single mom with a young son that he can mistreat and use for his own gain."

Sandy was playing dirty and he knew it. Truthfully, he would have given almost anything for Ryan to not have to go to court, but his desire to see Art punished and to stop him from doing it again overrode the guilt he was feeling and his need to protect Ryan from ever having to see Art again.

Ryan bit his lip and nodded. "I'll think about it, Mr. Cohen, but I won't promise anything."

"Thank you, Ryan. That's all I can ask of you."

"If I decide not to testify, what about me? You can't prove Art's done anything wrong. Who's to stop me from leaving and going back to him right now?"

"Me, for one." Kirsten answered. "I couldn't sleep knowing you were back with that monster."

"She's right, kid. There's no way we're letting him get anywhere near you again. Besides, you never should have been with him to begin with."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you know that Art isn't your legal guardian?"

"No."

"Well, he isn't. He had ninety days after your mother's death to petition the court for custody. He never filed a thing. I'm sure because with his record, he knew he'd be laughed out of court. He has no claim to you whatsoever."

"How is that possible? How come no one ever checked to see what happened to me? Didn't anyone care?"

Now it was Sandy's turn to be uncomfortable.

"I wish there was a good explanation, but there isn't one. Art was smart. He moved you out of Fresno before anyone had a chance to look at anything. After that...I don't know. I'm sorry."

Ryan shook his head in disbelief. "It's okay, Mr. Cohen. It's not your fault. I wasn't important enough to remember."

He bowed his head once again. For the moment, Sandy was at a loss for words. It was just as well; Ryan needed a few minutes to process what he had just learned.

Finally, Ryan looked up.

"Um, if Social Services forgot about me once, couldn't they do it again? I mean, what would be the harm in you letting me go? You could tell them I ran away. It'd be the truth. I won't go back to Chino. I promise. It'd be fine. I can take care of myself."

"You've said that already, and I'm still not buying it. You have no job, no money. Where would you go? How would you live?"

"I...I kind of thought I might go to Vegas."

"Ryan, you're fifteen. You don't even have your driver's license yet."

"I'd get by."

"How? By stealing? That's a hell of a plan, kid. Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into it."

Ryan dropped his gaze.

"Look, kid. I don't mean to come across as the bad guy here, but running away is not an option. If you were caught stealing with your record, you'd end up in Juvie, and you don't belong there. I won't let you throw your life away. I know it's hard to believe, but Social Services is not the enemy. They're there to help kids like you."

"I was in foster care once before, right after my dad went to prison. They let me go back to Mom after a couple of weeks. The guy who owned the house was just like my dad, a mean drunk. I was still scared all the time. It wasn't any better than home."

"Things will be different this time."

"How?"

"You have us."

Ryan almost looked up.

"We're not going to drop you off at Social Services and walk away. We care about you. I've got friends there. I can talk to them and make sure you're placed somewhere safe. And, if I can swing it, somewhere close by."

"That's right, Ryan," Kirsten added. "We want to be a part of your life. Make sure you're okay. Hopefully, you'll still be able to spend some weekends with us."

"What if there's no places like that available? Then what?"

"I can't promise anything, but I'll see if I can't arrange for you to stay with us until a proper home opens up." Sandy glanced nervously at Kirsten. They hadn't really discussed that particular problem. He hoped she wouldn't disagree with him later when they were in private. To his great relief, she looked completely receptive to the idea. Nodding her head, she smiled at him and then at Ryan. With that one small nod of her head, Sandy's hope that Ryan could stay and live with them grew tenfold.

Ryan looked at them in disbelief.

"Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

"Peace of mind. Knowing that you're safe and not on the streets. Knowing that someone is finally taking care of you. You may not believe this, Ryan, but you deserve better than the hand life has dealt you so far." Sandy waited a minute. "So what do you say, kid? Are you willing to give it a chance?"

Ryan didn't say a word.

"I know it's a lot to take in. Give it some time and think it over?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"No, I'm afraid not, but I'd like you to go willingly. Why don't you come on in the house, maybe get something to eat?"

"Can't I stay out here? I'd really like some time alone."

Sandy shook his head. "I'm sorry, kid. It's just that..."

"You don't trust me not to run away." Ryan stood. "It's okay, Mr. Cohen. I get it."

He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on.

"Seth might be awake," he explained. "He kind of knows about my back, but I don't want him to see it."

"We understand, kid. You don't have to say another word." Sandy began to guide Ryan out of the pool house. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same thing for my son."

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Seth was exhausted.

He had never imagined that having your bubble burst could be so tiring.

He felt like an idiot. He kept thinking back to how many times he had complained to Ryan over the past two days. How many times had he talked about how rotten the people were here? How horrible his life was? All the time Ryan sat there and listed to him whine while it was his life that must truly be unbearable. Ryan must have wanted to punch him.

Seth wasn't completely naive. He had seen movies. He watched the news. He even helped his mom set up for fundraisers to help less fortunate kids. He just never imagined that someone like Ryan would be one those kids. He was too cool, too tough. He wasn't supposed to have a parent who hit him.

He pushed aside his bowl of cereal. He didn't have much of an appetite this morning..

He hoped that Ryan was wrong, that he wouldn't have to end up in a group home. Seth had done some researching on the net after his parents had holed up in their bedroom last night. He didn't blame Ryan for not wanting to go there. Seth had always wanted brothers and sisters, but the idea of being forced to live with a bunch of strange kids wasn't even appealing to someone as lonely as himself. He couldn't imagine a private guy like Ryan living in one of those places.

He was being stupid. There was nothing to worry about. His dad could fix this. He would know what to do. He wouldn't let Ryan rot away where no one would notice. With his mind at ease, he picked up his video game controller and switched on the t.v.

Seth hit the power button as soon as he saw his parents and Ryan walk in the house. It didn't look like things were going well.

"Whoa," he exclaimed when he saw their expressions. "What'd I miss? I've got to tell you I've seen happier faces on the chess club on rope climbing day in P.E."

"Not now, Seth," Kirsten said.

"Nope, not again. You promised to keep me in the loop."

"I know what we promised, but now is not the time. We need a few minutes to get some things settled."

"And then you'll fill me in?"

"Yes, we promise."

"Good. Because I've got to tell you,_ this _is the three of you." He pointed in the air making three dots with his right hand. "And this is the loop." He drew a circle around where the three dots were. "And this is me." With his left hand he pointed high in the air, opposite the imaginary loop.

"We get the picture, sweetie." Kirsten looked at Sandy. "Excuse me, I need to call Susan. It's getting late."

"Of course, honey. I need to make a few phone calls myself, but they can wait until you're done. I'll just sit here and keep the boys company."

With each step his mother took, Seth scooted himself closer and closer to the kitchen. When he heard her pick up the phone, he leaned over the edge of the couch, straining to hear what she was saying.

"Seth," Sandy said sharply. "No eavesdropping."

"If I don't eavesdrop, I'm only going to get farther away from the loop. Pretty soon I won't even be able to see it, let alone be in it."

Sandy picked up the extra game controller. "Here, why don't you get your mind off you and your loop by showing me how to play this game of yours?"

"I've got to tell you, Dad. You and the smoothness are getting to be just like me and the loop...not exactly close."

"Son, would you please drop the loop-talk. It's getting on my nerves."

"All I'm saying is that ever since Ryan got here, you've tried to speak in code, distract me, or change the subject. And you've failed miserably each and every time."

Sandy tried to silence him with a look.

"See," Seth said pointing. "Just like that. You're trying to get me to shut-up again and it's not going to work. For one thing, you know that only Mom has mastered "the look." I think it has to do with the eyebrows. It's hard to take you seriously when you have two giant wooly worms living above your eyes. Have you ever thought about getting those things trimmed down?"

"I hate to break it to you, but they're genetic. You're time will come, my son."

Seth started to feel his eyebrows.

"You know, they were a little out of control this morning. I thought it had to do with the humidity. Speaking of which," he turned to face Ryan. "Why are you wearing your jacket? In case you haven't noticed, it's not exactly cold today."

Ryan glared at him.

"See," Seth pointed. "Now _that's_ a look."

"A look of what?" Kirsten asked as she walked back into the living room.

"Nothing, just your son's rambling. Did you get a hold of her?"

"Yes. She'll be here in fifteen to twenty minutes."

Sandy was relieved to hear the news. He wanted to be around when the doctor saw Ryan. However, he needed to call the bank and have Dave's money transferred to the office this morning. And, more importantly, he wanted to call his contacts at Social Services. He hoped that he could iron out a few details over the phone before they met with Ryan today.

"Good. That should give me plenty of time. Let me know when she gets here. I'll be in my office."

Kirsten had barely sat down on the loveseat when her phone rang. She glanced at the number and once again silently cursed. She was tempted to let it ring, but she knew her

father. If she didn't answer, he would be at her doorstep in a matter of minutes. She didn't know why he couldn't have stayed in Japan for just one more day.

"Dad," she said with forced cheerfulness. "I thought I told you I'd be in late today. Is there a problem?...You've been thinking about what I told you?" She glanced nervously at Ryan. "No, Dad. Do _not_ come over. Sandy and I have things under control...What do you mean he can't be trusted?" She stood and started to walk towards the kitchen, but not without constantly glancing over her shoulder and checking on Ryan.

"It's okay, Mom. Go talk to Grandpa in private, because we have no idea that you're discussing Ryan." Seth stood and waved his mother out of the room. "I've got it. Watchdog Seth is on the case. I do think I might need an increase in my allowance if I have to continue guarding Ryan all the time."

At any other time she would have lectured Seth on the inappropriateness of his humor. Instead, she mouthed "thank you" and once again left the room.

"So, buddy." Seth returned and took a seat next to Ryan on the couch. Ryan glared at him. "Ouch. That look is worse than the last one. I'm sorry about the watchdog comment. I guess it was too soon for the infamous Cohen wit, huh?"

Ryan continued to glare at him.

"You're not really mad, are you? I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I really wouldn't make a very good watchdog. I'd run at the sight of an intruder. I'm more like some type of spaniel. Loyal, affectionate, a bit clingy, and a touch on the yappy side. Those are my traits. Pretty interesting stuff, don't you think? Don't let anyone ever tell you that you don't learn a lot when you watch those dog shows on t.v. Anyway, I don't think most people would think of a spaniel and a watchdog in the same terms. So you can see, I really wouldn't be very good at watching you. Plus, it kind of makes this place sound like a prison, and I mean, come on, look at it." Seth waved his arm around the room. "This would be one posh prison. I don't even think Martha Stewart had it so good when she had her little time away. Not that I've ever been to any type of prison before, even as a visitor. I would have totally visited you in Juvie, but I didn't know you then. And from what I understand, you weren't in there long enough to receive visitors. But if I had known you and you'd been in there awhile, I'd have totally been there for you. Well, not literally. I mean I wouldn't have been your cell mate or anything. I'm not cut out for the big house. Basically, all I'm trying to say is that we both know I'm not really your watchdog. If anything, I'm more like a babysitter."

Ryan turned his head, shooting Seth another look that made him shift a little farther away on the couch.

"Okay. I see your point. Maybe babysitter isn't the right term either. For one, I don't really have any experience babysitting. It's not like I have any younger brothers or sisters to watch. Dad always said that they broke the mold after I was born. I prefer not to think about all the different meanings _behind_ that statement. And we're all aware of the fact that you don't need me to take care of you. You could totally kick my ass any time you wanted to. Not that you ever would, would you? Because we're friends, right? I don't have a lot of experience with friends, but I don't think they do that sort of thing. You know, I don't even know how old you are. That could shoot the whole babysitting thing down, too. You could be older than me. We never really got around to talking about when our birthdays are. I'll be sixteen on January 29. Which is good. I think I need a few more months to practice my moves before asking Summer on a real date with my own wheels. Not that I'm going to automatically going to get my own car as soon as I get my license. I'm pampered, but not spoiled. Which leads me to sometimes speak before thinking. Which brings us back to my earlier comment. Which ..."

"Seth," Ryan said sharply. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. Could you, could you please just be quiet for just a little bit? Please."

"Sure thing, buddy. I can do that. My lips are sealed. El zippo'ed. You won't hear another word out of me until you are ready to talk. I won't say another word. Not one word."

"Seth!"

"Oh yeah, sorry."

Seth didn't know what had went on this morning between Ryan and his parents, but he knew something major had just happened. He _did _realize that his new friend might need a little space. He could do that. He could let Ryan sit here in peace and quiet and let him gather his thoughts. He would wait until Ryan was ready to talk to him. He was not going to pester him with constant talking and endless questions.

He lasted forty-two seconds.

"So you want to tell me what you and my folks talked about this morning?"

"I thought..."

"I know. I know." Seth interrupted. "But technically if you tell me what happened, I wouldn't be talking, you would. And believe it or not, my friend, I _can _be a very good listener. Besides, I'm going to find out sooner or later anyway, and I'd rather hear your side of it. Come on, spill. It's not good to keep things locked up inside all the time. You could develop an ulcer."

"You're not going to shut up until I tell you, are you?"

"Pretty much."

Ryan sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Remember those nice, safe, happy places we talked about last night?"

"Yes."

"Well, it looks like I'm on my way to one."

"Really? Are you sure? Of course you're sure. It's just that I thought my dad..." He couldn't believe it. His dad had never let him down before. "When?"

"I'm not sure. Today or tomorrow, I guess. If not, a week at the most."

"Dude, I'm sorry. That sucks."

Ryan nodded his head in agreement.

Seth nodded too. Then, not a minute later he jumped off the couch. "I've got it. Eu-freakin-reka, I've got it! And before you ask what I'm talking about, I mean a solution to our problem. Technically, it's your problem, but we've already established that we're friends so therefore, your problems are my problems."

He could see that Ryan was getting frustrated again.

"Sorry. I'm talking about the whole getting stuck in a group home problem. I could ask my parents for you to live here with us. They've never said no to me before."

"I don't think so, Seth."

"Why not? We've got all these extra rooms and a pool house that we only use when my wayward aunt decides to show up. It could work."

"I'm a thief."

"We all know you tried to steal a car, but that was a one time thing. Lesson learned, and all that, right?"

"No, it wasn't a one time thing. I steal all the time. Cars, purses, wallets, you name it. If it isn't nailed down, I can steal it."

"Really?"

"Really. I don't think I'm the type of kid your parents are going to want around on a permanent basis. I think I'm what you call a bad influence."

"But..."

"Just drop it, Seth. It's never going to happen."

Seth did manage to sit there quietly for the next few minutes, until Ryan stood up.

"Um," Seth began, nervously.

"Down, boy. I'm only going to the bathroom."

ococococococococococococococ

Kirsten and Sandy walked into the living room at almost the exact same time.

"Where's Ryan?" Kirsten asked, clearly concerned.

"Wow. I just got a case of deja vu. That's the same thing you said to me last night, and just like last night, I've got it covered. He went to the bathroom. You don't need to worry. I've been listening for the front door, and he hasn't tried to make a break for it."

Kirsten ran into the hall.

"Ryan, Ryan, are you in there?" she called and knocked on the door.

"Uh, Mom, sometimes a man needs a little privacy."

"Seth, how long ago did Ryan leave the room?"

"I don't know. I'm not timing him. That would be gross."

"There is a window in this bathroom."

"Oh, I didn't think of that."

Kirsten didn't take time to comment. She reached up and retrieved a key from the top of the door frame.

"When did you hide the key up there?"

"After you locked yourself in the bathroom three times in one week," she managed to answer while fumbling with the lock.

"Give a guy a break. I was only four, okay seven, but..."

Neither one said another word, as Kirsten opened the door to an empty bathroom. The window was open and the curtains were blowing in the soft breeze.

She turned and cried out, "Sandy, I need you. Ryan's gone."

He was one step ahead of her. He had already called down to the front gates as soon as he saw Ryan wasn't with Seth.

"What do you mean you didn't get my message?...I know you change shifts at seven...Never mind that now, did you see the boy I described?...You did. Good. Can you still see him? Can you stop him?...What?... When?...Can you describe the driver or the truck?...Son of a bitch!"

Sandy hurled the phone against the wall, smashing it to pieces.

"Call the police. He's got him, honey. That bastard's got his hooks in Ryan again."

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: This chapter is definitely a **R.** Lots of angst, swearing-Art has a bit of a potty mouth. Anne frowns at him in disapproval. Descriptions of child abuse-Art is cruel and sadistic.

See additional warning below

**Beta: **loracj2

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine, including any errors in the direction and distance between locations mentioned in this chapter.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey

**Note**: I know I said I was going to try and get this up a lot sooner. But it just didn't happen. I'm sorry.

**Additional Warning: **In this chapter, there is no Seth sarcasm or humor to lighten the load, no Kandy banter to distract from the harshness of Ryan's life. This contains nothing but Ryan and Art, and Art is evil personified. If you don't want to read about the abuse Ryan endures in the hands of his stepfather, I suggest you stop reading after the first section. Until the first set of _ocococococ, _the chapter backtracks just a little and begins right before Ryan ran away, and focuses on why he made that decision. For those of you who don't want to read the chapter, but still want an idea of what happened, I have written a one paragraph summary for you that can be found at the end of the chapter.

**Special Thanks**: Big hugs to Themusrevenge. She got a sneak peak at this chapter and found some critical errors. Hopefully, my changes and additions are to her liking and have made this a better chapter.

**Additional Note to FanFiction Readers: **I want to keep this story from having a "M" rating. Therefore, I have toned down some of Art's language from the original version I posted on lj.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Fifteen**

Ryan never meant to lie to Seth. When he left the other boy sitting on the couch, he truly hadn't planned on running away. He just needed some time alone to think things over.

He appreciated Seth's efforts to be quiet, but knew the silence wouldn't last, and he simply wasn't up to another marathon of Seth-talk.

As he walked to the bathroom, Ryan began to mull over his options. He quickly came to the conclusion that they were severely limited.

He could betray the Cohens' trust and run...not exactly an appealing choice.

Or, he could do what they wanted. He could tell the cops everything he knew about Art, and let his reward be a one-way ticket to foster care and a never-ending stream of group homes...an even less appealing choice.

With each step he took, more doubt crept into his mind.

It wasn't as if he didn't believe the Cohens. On the contrary, for the first time in a long time, perhaps forever, he was actually willing to put his trust in someone.

But how long would _their_ trust and belief in him last?

He gave it a week.

Ryan felt an unfamiliar knot in his chest at the thought of disappointing the Cohens. He should have never gotten so close to them. In spite of his best efforts, he had become attached to this family. He had tried to keep his distance, tried to stay focused on the job he had been sent to do. But he had failed, and failed miserably. Every time he accidentally let his guard down, the Cohens were right there, chipping away at all of his defenses, finding a way into his heart. It was only going to make things harder when they didn't want to see him anymore.

He'd screw up somehow. He always did. The Cohens would find out the truth about him, and realize he wasn't worth their time, their patience, or their kindness. Then, despite all of their promises, they would leave him.

How could they not?

After all, hadn't his whole life been about people leaving him?

His father had never wanted him. He had told Ryan so every chance he got. And even though Dawn had tried to hide the truth from him, one night in a drunken stupor, she had confessed that Frank had disowned him. It hadn't exactly been a surprise, but it had still hurt.

And then there was his mother.

Even though it had been three years, he still had a hard time dealing with her suicide. How could she leave him all alone with Art? Had he really meant so little to her? If only she had left a note. She could have explained why she felt the need to kill herself or at least said good-bye. But she couldn't even be bothered to do that one last thing for him. Barely a day went by that Art didn't remind him that Dawn had chosen death over being his mother. The worse part was it was the truth. What did that say about him?

He reached the bathroom and shut the door, leaning heavily against it. As he stared at the small window, just large enough to crawl through, it suddenly became very clear what he needed to do. No, what he_ had_ to do. The Cohens would be better off without him. They didn't need him messing up their lives, and he didn't need any more rejection in his.

He climbed on the stool and opened the window, giving the room one last look before leaving. He thought back to the day before, and how Mrs. Cohen had taken care of the cut on his hand. She had been so nice to him this past weekend. They had _all _been so nice to him. His one regret was that he couldn't tell them goodbye and thank them for everything they had done for him. He couldn't even leave a note explaining why he felt he had to go.

Perhaps he wasn't so different from his mother, after all.

ococococococococococ

Ryan lost his footing when he hit the pavement. Landing squarely on his backside, he looked up at the window. It had been higher than he had thought. A fact he was glad he hadn't known before deciding to climb out. He had an intense fear of heights that stemmed back to Dawn's first boyfriend.

He picked himself up and dusted off the seat of his pants. He was itching to run, but he knew it would serve only to draw attention. Instead, Ryan forced himself to walk slowly down the driveway and onto the street leading to the front gates.

He didn't know much about clothes, but it was obvious that his worn jeans and cheap leather jacket sorely stood out in this neighborhood. He could only imagine what some of Mr. Cohen's Newpsies' reactions would be if they saw a kid dressed like him running down the street. They'd be calling the police in a matter of seconds, right after they locked up their teenage daughters and checked to make sure their jewelry wasn't missing.

Even though it was only a few feet, it seemed like he had been walking for miles when he finally reached the iron gates. He shifted uncomfortably in his jacket and wiped his brow. Between the unnatural heat and humidity of the morning and his nerves, he couldn't seem to stop the sweat that dripped off his forehead.

He paused just outside the view of the guard, hoping that a car would drive by or there would be a changing of shifts. Anything to distract the man long enough for Ryan to sneak by. Unfortunately, the Atwood luck held strong. The majority of residents with jobs had already left for the day, and those without must have thought it too early for their daily yogalates class. As for the changing of the guards, Ryan had missed it by fifteen minutes.

He couldn't wait any longer. Any minute now, Mr. Cohen could come bounding down the road and stop him.

He started searching through his pockets for his pack of Marlboros. He hadn't had a cigarette all weekend, and he hadn't missed them. Mr. Cohen had warned him not to smoke when he picked him up in Chino, but Ryan wouldn't have tried anyway. He couldn't imagine smoking here. The houses were too perfect, the lawns too immaculate. Ryan didn't even see so much as a stray leaf in the street's gutters let alone a discarded cigarette butt.

He found the almost empty pack and waved it at the guard as he walked past him. Ryan hoped the man would think he was just stepping outside for a smoke. He was prepared to run, but the guard smiled and nodded his head in apparent understanding.

Once outside the gates, Ryan began to notice his chest hurt. He hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding his breath until his lungs had begun to burn. He allowed himself the luxury of letting out a sigh of relief. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but he had overcome the first obstacle.

He looked to his left and then to his right, trying to decide which way he should go. Jumping slightly at the sound of distant thunder, he realized that he didn't have long before the rain began. The sky was becoming darker and more ominous by the minute.

Not wasting any more time, he chose left and started walking. He looked back at the guard. Thankfully, the man was paying no attention to him.

Ryan made it less than six feet beyond the beyond the gates when seemingly out of nowhere, an all too familiar red pickup truck pulled up beside him.

ococococococococococ

The door opened to reveal an extremely angry looking Art.

"Get in," he ordered.

Ryan took a step backwards. It had only been a few days since he had last seen the man, but he could have sworn in that time he had grown even bigger. He appeared more menacing, more threatening, and definitely more dangerous.

This time when he looked back, the guard, who had no doubt heard the roar of Art's truck, was eyeing him curiously. Ryan wondered why the man wasn't calling the Cohens. Didn't Mr. Cohen tell the guards to keep an eye out for him? Even if he had bought the cigarette excuse, surely Art's truck should have sent up some kind of warning signal. Vehicles that were as old and as loud as Art's could not be a common sight in Newport.

It was ironic. A few minutes ago, Ryan wanted nothing more than to get past the man without being noticed and now he was seriously considering calling out to him for help. The guard must have noticed Ryan's look or sensed something was off, because he left his post and started approaching the truck.

"Shit," Art hissed, when he saw the guard in the rearview mirror. "Get in the truck. I'll handle this."

Ryan hesitated, his hand resting on the open door.

"Boy, I'm warning you. You do _not_ want to piss me off anymore than I already am. Now, get in."

He reluctantly climbed in the truck.

"Morning, folks," the guard greeted and looked inside the truck. "Is there a problem here?"

"Problem?" Art asked. "No. No problem at all," he glanced at the guard's name tag, "Mitch."

Mitch studied Ryan.

"Aren't you the boy Mr. Cohen had with him Friday night?"

Ryan was confused. The guard didn't seem to know anything about alerting the Cohens. Not knowing what else to do at the moment, he looked at Art.

"Don't be rude. Answer the man." Art shook his head in mock frustration. "Teenagers," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, sir. That was me," Ryan answered dutifully.

"You spent the whole weekend with them? Are you friends with their son?"

"Yep," said Art, answering for Ryan. "The boys are good buddies. They go to school together."

"Your son goes to Harbor?" The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.

"He's on scholarship. Couldn't afford it otherwise. Not on a working man's salary. If you know what I mean. Lucky for the boy, he got my brains and his mother's looks instead of the other way around." Art barked out a forced laugh.

The guard still didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure you're all right? You didn't look very happy to see your father."

Art laughed again.

"Don't have any teenagers, do you Mitch? They're never happy to see their parents. Most of the time they go around pretending they don't have any." He clapped his hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Why this one here barely acknowledges me back home. You can only imagine his reaction to me in this place. I don't exactly fit in with the suit and tie crowd. Can't say as I can blame him for not wanting to leave, though. It's not every day a kid from our neighborhood gets to stay in a place this nice. Makes our house look like a real dump."

"I bet," Mitch muttered under his breath, before looking at Ryan for confirmation. "Is that right?"

Art squeezed his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but Ryan got the message.

He was tempted to ignore Art's silent warning. He desperately wanted to get out of the truck, and tell the guard everything. But he looked at Mitch and knew he couldn't. This guy wasn't a cop. He was just a security guard and like so many of them, hours of sitting in one spot day after day had done little for his physical health. If Ryan said anything that made the man try and stop them, Art would attack, and Mitch was obviously not capable of taking on a man like Art. Ryan didn't want to be the cause of anyone else getting hurt.

"Yes, sir. I just wasn't ready to go home. I'm sorry if I bothered you."

"Don't worry about it, son." Satisfied with Ryan's response, he backed away from the truck and looked at Art. "I won't keep you any longer." He stopped for a moment, and made eye contact with Ryan, causing his hopes to rise. "The Cohen boy is a nice kid, but he doesn't seem to have too many friends. I hope you can visit again."

Ryan tried to keep the disappointment from his face, while Art shifted gears.

"Don't worry about that," Art said. "I'll make sure he comes back real soon." And this time the laugh that followed was genuine.

ococococococococococ

As they drove out of sight, Ryan couldn't help but stare at Art. He could hardly believe it. He had been so close to finally being free of the man only to find himself trapped once again.

"Where did you...How did you know..."

Now that they were alone, Ryan couldn't seem to form a complete sentence.

Art sneered at him. "What? You don't think I would leave a job this important to a little screw-up like you, did you?"

He didn't even give Ryan a chance to respond before smacking him on the side of his face.

Ryan shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. He was amazed that the man could deliver a blow that could send his head spinning, and still not miss a beat driving.

"I asked you a question," Art demanded.

"No...no, of course not."

"Damn straight. I knew you'd mess it up, just like you do everything else. That's why I decided I better keep an eye on you while you were gone."

Ryan remembered thinking he had heard Art's truck the previous morning.

"So that was you yesterday?"

"That's right, boy. I've been watching you since Saturday afternoon. Pretty cozy life you've been leading these past few days...sailing, eating at nice restaurants, staying in a big house. You better not have gotten any fancy ideas in that head of yours. After a taste of the sweet life, you don't think you're too good for me, do you, boy?"

Ryan shook his head frantically.

"No, sir. I'd never think that."

"Good. 'Cause I'm going to bring you back down where you belong first chance I get."

Ryan moved a little closer to the door.

"Oh." Art turned toward the already frightened boy. "And don't think I don't know about that guy your lawyer hired to snoop around."

Ryan felt his blood run cold.

"I swear I didn't know anything about it until it was too late. You've got to believe me."

"I don't got to do anything, boy."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant..."

"Save it. I'm not in the mood to hear some pathetic story on how and why you fucked up this time. I'm tired of listening to one lame excuse after another. I gotta tell you, when the boys first told me about it, I thought it was the final straw. You'd made one too many mistakes. I just didn't see how I could let this one go. You know how I value my privacy. I planned on killing you just as soon as I got my hands on you. But then..." Art paused. "Then, I realized that I still needed you to help me with this job. I mean, you _have_ been there all weekend. You best have enough information to make this one hell-uv-a easy heist".

Ryan didn't say a word.

"Plus, it has taken me three long years to train you. If I killed you now, I would have wasted all that valuable time. The way I figure it, you owe me several more years of service to repay me for all the trouble I've gone through with you."

Any small measure of relief Ryan felt was cut short by Art's next sentence.

"You're still going to have to pay for sicking that P.I. after me. I can't let that go unpunished, but I'm not planning on killing you anymore."

Just then a streak of lightening flashed across the sky, followed by a boom of thunder, signaling the beginning of the storm that had been threatening all morning. Sheets of rain pelted the earth, making it almost impossible to see the road.

"Son of a bitch." Art pounded on the steering wheel. "This is just great. Every time we get one damn drop of rain the idiots around here forget how to drive."

For the moment, Art seemed to forget about Ryan. He turned his full attention to the road. Ryan was grateful for the reprieve. He sat silently, staring out the window, watching the rain come down.

ococococococococococ

The first time Art drove by an exit that would take them back to Chino, Ryan said nothing. He assumed that Art had missed it due to the rain, and Ryan wasn't about to point out the mistake. But when Art passed the second exit, Ryan couldn't help but glance over at him. From the determined look on his face, Art appeared to know exactly where he was going. He had purposely driven by the exits. A feeling of dread washed over Ryan. They were not heading back to Chino.

Torn between the safety of being ignored and his desire to know where they were going, Ryan remained quiet, trying to decide what to do. In the end, Ryan had to ask. As much as he didn't want to draw attention to himself, he felt he should try and find out where Art was taking him.

"Um," he began haltingly. "Where are we going? Chino's back that way." He motioned behind them with a nod of his head.

He should have followed his first instinct. For the second time in thirty minutes, he was the recipient of a blow that sent his head spinning.

"You do _not_ question me, boy. Not now, not ever. You just sit there on your lazy good-for-nothing ass and keep your mouth shut. Understand?."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said rubbing his cheek.

"You damn well better be. And just so you know, dumb ass, we can't very well go back to Chino, now can we? Thanks to you, I can't take the chance that the house might be crawling with cops. You're just lucky I was renting the joint." He glared at Ryan. "I had to call in a few favors to find someplace to stay. A friend of mine knows a place in Long Beach where we can crash for a few days, just until we can pull off this job and unload the goods. I figure the haul we should get off of that rich bastard Cohen and his family should be more than enough to relocate somewhere nice and safe. Someplace no one will ever be able to find us, including your new friend the lawyer and his private investigator."

Ryan wasn't quite sure why, but that information made him very nervous. Perhaps it was the idea of being so completely alone. He may not have gone to school in Chino, and certainly didn't have any friends, but he knew that Mrs. Garcia was watching from a distance. He always derived a small amount of comfort from that knowledge.

Or, more likely, the idea scared him because he had yet to work up the nerve to tell Art that he wasn't going to help him rob the Cohens. Ryan shivered with raw terror at the thought of Art's reaction to the news.

ococococococococococ

Ryan bided his time. He tried to sit as still and as silent as possible. He waited until Art approached the next intersection and slowed for the light. They hadn't even come to a complete stop when Ryan threw open the truck's door and started running for his life.

He didn't know if the area was normally deserted, or if it was just because of the rain, but there was no one else in sight. The empty streets and sidewalks were a mixed blessing. It made it easier to run, but it also meant he couldn't lose Art in a crowd.

Ryan could hear Art's heavy breathing getting closer. He had no idea the man could run so fast. He felt Art's large, meaty hands grab the back of his jacket. Ryan managed to wriggle out of it and keep running, quickening his pace.

He ran blindly, not knowing or caring which direction he took. Without thinking, he rounded a corner and darted into the street. He heard the blaring of a car horn and the screeching of brakes, and looked up just in time to see a pair of headlights shining directly at him.

He stood paralyzed, staring at the oncoming lights. At the last second he tried to dodge out of the car's path. He almost made it. The car skidded to a stop as its front fender clipped him on the side, knocking him off his feet.

Dazed, he lay on the cold wet pavement, not quite comprehending what had happened. When his senses returned, he attempted to assess his injuries. His side and hip ached from the blow, and he would probably have a nasty bruise, but nothing seemed to be broken.

He looked around, Art was nowhere to be seen, but no doubt he would be here any second. Ryan had to keep moving. As he attempted to stand, a woman, somewhere in her late fifties, suddenly appeared over him, her face frantic. She waved her arms in front chest, seemingly to stop him from rising.

"Don't move, young man," she commanded. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry. I'm not used to driving in this kind of weather. I didn't see you."

"It's okay. I'm not hurt. You don't need to worry. I'll just be on my way." Once more, he tried standing, but the woman leaned down and put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down again.

"I told you not to move. I watch a lot of television, especially hospital shows, and I'm pretty sure you're supposed to stay still until after the paramedics arrive. You just lie there while I go call 911."

"Don't bother, ma'am. He's fine. Aren't you, boy?"

_Shit_, was the only thing Ryan could think as he felt himself being roughly hauled to his feet.

"Are you this boy's father? I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't see him. I don't think he's hurt. You know, I don't mean to tell you how to raise your son, but you really should teach him to watch where he's going. It's simply not safe to be running out into the streets, especially in this kind of weather. You'd think a boy of his age would know better."

"He's not my father," Ryan stated vehemently. He clamped his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to say it, but he couldn't stomach another person referring to Art as his father. Still, he shouldn't have said anything. Thanks to his carelessness, this woman could get hurt. Ryan knew for a fact that Art was not above hitting a woman.

Art shook Ryan by the arm. "You keep your mouth shut."

Just as Ryan feared the woman started to look suspicious. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. She backed away slowly, her expression turning frightened and unsure.

"What's going on here? Who are you? What are you two up to?"

"Now, ma'am," Art said condescendingly. "There's no need to worry." He smiled at the woman. "I'm a cop."

"You are?" She looked him up and down, frowning at his rough appearance.

"I don't blame you for not believing me. You see, I work undercover and I'm afraid I have to look this way to blend in with the lowlifes I have to deal with. Why, even my own wife won't kiss me goodbye when I'm all decked out in this disguise. "

She nodded her head as if she understood completely. Ryan thought it was almost odd how relieved he was that the woman was buying Art's story. As much as he wanted to tell her the truth, it would be pointless. She could do nothing to help him and he had already put her in enough danger as it was.

"I really should be thanking you," Art continued.

"Me?" She put her hand up to her chest. "What on earth for?"

"Why, for helping me catch this little punk. I've been after him for weeks. You're actually very lucky."

"How?"

"Pretending to get hit by a car is all part of his little scam."

"Pretending? Scam?" She sounded shocked. "You mean I didn't really hit him?"

"No, ma'am. He just wanted you to think you did so you'd stop and get out of your car."

"You know," she said pointing her finger in the air, like she had just thought of something very important, "now that I think about it, I _don't_ remember actually hitting him. I was positive the car stopped before he fell down. I mean, one minute he was nowhere to be seen and the next he was lying on the ground in front of my car."

She looked at Ryan accusingly. He bowed his head, ashamed, even though he had done nothing wrong.

"You're right, ma'am. You never touched him. That's just the way he lures his victims away from their cars. While you're standing over him, fawning all over him, showing concern and compassion like the decent upstanding citizen you are, his buddies crawl out of their hiding places, like street rats, and strip your car clean in five minutes."

Ryan looked up at him. He was amazed at Art's ability to think so quickly on his feet. He had just described the same scam he had pulled when he was young. He had told Ryan about it one time when trying to come up with new ways for Ryan to earn money. Art had dismissed the idea, saying that nowadays no one would probably stop to help, especially for a kid as worthless as Ryan.

Art nodded in the direction of the woman's car. "I bet you left your purse sitting on the front passenger seat, didn't you?"

"Why yes, yes I did," she answered her eyes wide.

"It'd be gone too. And as soon as you turned your back on this one..." He tightened his grip on Ryan's arm and pulled him closer. "He'd be up and running. You'd never be able to catch him. No offense, ma'am, but you're making yourself an easy target. You really need to be more careful. I might not be around next time. This good-for-nothing little thief won't be around to bother you again, but there are plenty more where he came from."

"Thank you, officer," she said sincerely looking at Art warmly before giving Ryan an icy glare. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Preying on innocent women like that."

He found himself apologizing.

"You should be sorry," she scolded. "I hope they lock you up and throw away the key."

"Don't you worry about that, ma'am." Art smiled smugly at Ryan. "I'll personally make sure he gets everything he deserves."

He jerked Ryan's arm and started pulling him away. "Come on. You've taken up enough of this nice lady's time."

Keeping a tight grip on Ryan, he walked quickly back to the truck. Ryan was surprised to see that Art took the time to pick up his discarded jacket off the ground.

"I don't want to leave anymore of a trail than we already have," Art explained.

As soon as they reached the truck, Art gave one quick look around before slamming Ryan into the front fender and pounding his fist into Ryan's ribs just above the spot where the car had struck him. His entire left side exploded in agony.

"That's for trying to run away."

Ryan didn't think his side could hurt any worse. He was wrong. Art hit him again in almost the exact same spot and he doubled over. .

"That's for making me run after you."

Art drove his knee into Ryan's abdomen. He felt a blinding white pain suck every last bit of air from his lungs, causing every breath to come out in short choking gasps. He couldn't stop the tears from stinging his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

"And _that's _for making me get wet."

He cradled his throbbing stomach with both arms and began falling to his knees. Art yanked him up by his hair.

"Listen to me good, you fucking little bastard. If you even think of pulling a stunt like that again, I will not hesitate to rev this truck up and run your sorry ass down." He moved in closer, his face a mere inch away from Ryan's. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ryan barely managed to choke out.

"Good." Art released his hair, and shoved him in the truck. "I better not so much as see you breathe on this door until I tell you it's time to get out," he threatened as he shut the door.

ococococococococococ

Ryan wasn't sure how much longer they drove before Art turned down a deserted dead end alley. He reached over, causing Ryan to flinch. Art noticed and snickered as he opened the glove compartment to remove a pair of license plates.

"Get out," Art ordered.

He motioned for Ryan to follow him. He stopped at the front of the truck and gave the plates to Ryan.

"Here, you switch the plates while I keep a look out. They're not in my name , but that cop wanna-be at the gates probably wrote the number down."

Ryan glanced at the end of the alley. The only thing blocking it was an old chain link fence. He'd scaled dozens just like it.

Art read his mind. "Go ahead and try it. I'd love to see how far up you'd make it before I plowed you down."

Ryan quickly dropped his head, knelt down, and started removing the original license plate. He finished switching the front plates, then moved to the back, with Art never letting him get more than a foot away. When Ryan was done, Art grabbed a hold of him with one arm, and reached in the back of the truck to retrieve a duffle bag with the other. They walked for another four blocks, until Art stopped in front of an abandoned store building. It looked like an old pawn shop.

"Home sweet home," Art mumbled as he unlocked a side door, and dragged Ryan up a flight of stairs.

At the top of the steps, there was a single door that opened to a small apartment. The walls were cracked and peeling. Hunks of plaster lay on the bare wood floor. They may have been painted white at one time, but were now a dingy yellow from age and cigarette smoke. The room was sparsely finished with a broken down couch, television, and a small table and chairs in the kitchen area, still littered with empty fast food containers from the last tenants who had needed a place to lay low for a few days.

Art pushed Ryan towards the chairs.

"Sit down," he ordered as he threw the duffel bag onto the table and started sorting through it. "Here." He handed Ryan a pencil and a pad of paper. "You can start drawing the layout of the house while you tell me how we're going to get in without setting off any alarms."

Ryan picked up the pencil. He was no artist, but he could certainly make a rough outline of the Cohen's house. Yet, the pencil remained hovering above the paper. Something was stopping him from drawing.

He had never wanted to do this. From the very beginning, this had always felt so wrong to him. When he had first arrived at the Cohens', he had managed to push the nagging guilt that never quite left him to the back of his mind. It wasn't too difficult. Every time he felt his resolve weakening, he would conjure up thoughts of Art and what he would do to him if he disobeyed. However, as time passed and the longer he stayed and got to know them, the more he could not ignore his conscience.

At the last when so many other thoughts and doubts plagued his mind, the one thing he was sure of was that he could not hurt the Cohens in any way. That's why he tried to run away. To protect them. But that was then. Now, with his face stinging and his ribs aching from Art's blows, things were different. His world had returned to the shade of grey in which he normally lived. Where stealing was wrong, but necessary to survive.

He glanced at Art out of the corner of his eye. How could he say no to him? It didn't matter that Mr. Cohen had told him that legally Art wasn't his guardian, the man still owned him. He dictated his every move, his every action, almost his every thought. From the moment he had walked through the door, Ryan's life had been one long nightmare. He lived in a constant state of fear. He had never been able to defend himself against Art. He couldn't stand up to him. He just...couldn't.

"What are you waiting for?" Art smacked Ryan in the back of the head, causing it to jerk forward. "Draw, damn it."

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled and rubbed his now sore neck. He didn't need or want any more reminders of what disobedience would bring.

He started drawing.

It was just a line. It was going to be the living room. He saw it in his mind, and he could think of were thoughts of eating pizza and watching bad action movies with Mr. Cohen and playing video games with Seth.

He started over. It would make more sense to begin with the kitchen. Once again, he stopped after drawing a solitary line. It had been the place where he had eaten his first family dinner. Where Seth and his father had teased Mrs. Cohen about her cooking. Where she had wrapped his hand and tried to make him feel at ease about the coming talk with Mr. Cohen.

How could he let a man like Art destroy their home? Home. That was it. That was the one word that kept running through his mind. They didn't have a house. They had a home and for a very short time Ryan had been a part of it.

And just like that, he knew he couldn't do it.

"No." Ryan dropped the pencil and pushed the paper back at Art.

"What do you mean by no? You were there for three days. Don't tell me that you didn't get a good look at the place. I saw you coming and going, they sure as hell didn't keep you locked up. Now draw." He shoved the paper back at Ryan.

Ryan closed his eyes, tried to take a deep as breath as his sore ribs would allow and gathered his courage, before pushing it back once more.

"I told you before I ever left Chino that I didn't want to do this. The family, they're decent people. They were good to me. They don't deserve to be ripped off for doing something nice."

Art slammed his fist down on the table. Ryan tried to scoot back, but Art grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"Good to you?!?!" he screamed. "They had you for three lousy days. I've had to put up with you for three long years. What about what I deserve?"

"I pay for my keep."

Art hauled him to his feet. He was practically snarling. "You haven't begun to pay, boy."

"I'm not scared of you," Ryan lied. He had never seen Art so enraged.

Still holding on to Ryan, he removed his belt.

"Apparently, your little time in the lap of luxury has made you forget what happens when you disobey me.

Ryan didn't know where the courage came from, but he held strong.

"I don't care what you do to me. I won't help you. I will _not _hurt that family."

ococococococococococ

Ryan woke to almost total darkness. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light before attempting to stand. Almost immediately, he fell back to the floor, every bone and muscle in his body weeping with agony and pain at the unwelcome movement.

He lay there for a few minutes, trying to work up the strength to stand. The cold hard surface offered no comfort. He rose slowly and began to make his way to the only small source of light in the room, a window that had long ago been painted black for reasons unknown. In a few places, tiny pinpoints of light from the streets below managed to sneak their way through the chipped paint.

Ryan tried to open the window to no avail. It was either painted or nailed shut. He supposed it didn't really matter. They were on the second story and there was no way he could risk jumping.

Using the walls for guidance and support, he began exploring the rest of the room. On the far wall, he discovered a door. He tried it without expecting it to open. To his surprise, the knob turned with ease. From what he could make out it looked to be a bathroom. Ryan felt the wall, flicked the switch, and found himself squinting into the mirror above the sink. His own reflection made him want to return to the darkness. He looked horrible.

Whatever small amount of healing that his face had accomplished over the weekend was long gone with Art's latest handiwork.

His eyes had previously been blackened by Art and the fight with the Harbor School jocks. But now his left eye, which had always been the worst, was completely swollen shut. In fact, the whole left side of his face was one giant bruise and the right wasn't much better. He leaned over the sink to get a better look. The movement triggered a new wave of pain and nausea. Lifting his shirt, he discovered that between the car and Art hitting him, his left side matched his face. He turned slightly and there on his lower back, he found an outline of Art's boot from a kick he didn't remember receiving.

Ryan turned on the water, letting it run until the water turned a lesser shade of rust. He splashed his face, and ran his hands through his hair, before allowing himself a drink. _It could be worse,_ he thought. At least he was trapped where he had access to a bathroom with running water.

Feeling only slightly better, he stepped back outside. With the light from the bathroom allowing a better look, he surveyed the room that was to be his prison. He assumed it to be the apartment's sole bedroom, even though it had no furniture. He stared at the only other door in the room. That one would be locked. He was sure of it. No point in even trying it. But still...it wouldn't hurt to check, just in case. He gave in to temptation. He walked over to the door and reached out his hand.

The door flung open, and Ryan jumped back. Art's massive frame filled the entire doorway.

"I see you're awake. It's about damn time." He looked Ryan up and down and smiled maliciously. "Well, I hope you've learned your lesson for the day. Now, get in there and start drawing those plans, like I told you." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the other room.

Despite his aching side, Ryan attempted to stand up straight. He no longer wanted to cower before this man.

"No, I already told you, there's nothing you can do to me to make me change my mind."

Art kicked the door shut and advanced on Ryan, his hands already forming into fists.

"This is going to get really old really quick, boy."

ococococococococococ

The next day held more of the same for Ryan. Throughout the day and into the early evening, Art would periodically unlock the door and demand that Ryan do as he was told. Each time Ryan would manage to lift himself off the floor, muster every ounce of courage and strength he had and refuse. And each time he would pay dearly for his defiance.

It was during Ryan's second night of captivity that he realized he was getting sick. At first he had been in too much pain to notice, but sometime in the night, when Art had either left or had been sleeping, granting Ryan a few hours of reprieve, Ryan's body began to let itself feel the fever. Whether the chills that now shook his body were from the constant beatings or from the fact that his clothes had never fully dried from Monday, or from a combination of both he didn't know...or care. He did know that the deep, wet cough he was developing would do nothing but further agitate Art.

When dawn broke, Ryan had his first bout of coughing that he couldn't control. Art barged in and slapped him across the mouth telling him to keep quiet. Ryan was lucky, that was all Art did to him...that one time.

On Wednesday, the third day, Art began to change his tactics. He started to attack Ryan mentally as well as physically. He would tell Ryan how stupid he was to protect the Cohens. That they had already forgotten all about him, and that they didn't care about him. He would bring up Ryan's mother, reminding him of how she never loved him, and telling him that if his own mother hadn't given a damn about him, why did he think anyone else would?

It was during these times that Ryan tried to find escape within in his own mind. He would think back over his life, searching for happier times. Once he found a memory, he held on tight. He would take himself to a place where Art and the pain he inflicted couldn't reach him. Ironically, during these times, the only memories Ryan could recall in his entire life were the moments he had so recently spent with the Cohens.

By Thursday, Ryan was ashamed and disgusted to realize that his life had been reduced to that of a cockroach. Every time Art opened the door the room would flood with light, sending Ryan scurrying to the nearest corner to hide. By mid-afternoon, he stopped leaving his corner. He stayed there with his knees pulled tight to his chest and his head buried in the crook of his arm. He never even bothered looking up when he heard the lock on the door click open.

ococococococococococ

WHACK!!!

The spot on the wall just above Ryan's head vibrated. He tried to pull his legs in tighter, but felt something cool and hard underneath his chin, pushing his head up. Ryan found himself looking up the barrel of a baseball bat.

Over the years, Art had slapped him, hit him with his fists, kicked him and beat him with a belt, but he had never used anything else. He hadn't had to. Ryan's eyes slowly traced the bat following its handle to Art's arm and up to his face. There was a look of pure evil shining from his eyes. Ryan's heart began pumping so fast and hard he thought his chest would explode.

"Now that I've got your attention," Art began. "Let's say we cut to the chase. I'm getting sick and tired of all this shit. We both know that sooner or later you're going to give in."

Ryan was going to deny it, but Art pushed the end of the bat into his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak.

"Uh huh. I'm talking. You're listening. I"m running out of time and patience. So here's the deal. Either you tell me everything I want to know about that rich lawyer's house, or I break every bone in your body with this bat." He knelt down, careful not to relieve any of the pressure from Ryan's throat. "Before I'm done, you'll be begging me to kill you, but I'm not letting you off that easy. When I'm through with you up here, I'm going to drag what's left of your broken, pathetic body down the stairs, making sure you feel every last step, take you out back, and throw you in the dumpster. I figure it will take about fifteen minutes before the rats find you."

Ryan was consumed with a sensation he had never before experienced. It was deeper than fear, and somewhere beyond even terror

Art removed the bat from Ryan's throat, using it as support to help him stand.

"They'll slowly tear you to shreds, their sharp pointy teeth ripping the flesh from your bones, and you won't even be able to scream. I'll make sure of that. Sounds like an awful way to die, doesn't it?"

Ryan stared at the figure towering over him. He couldn't even find it within himself to speak.

"I hate the thought of doing it to you, boy. You've been like a son to me these past three years. But you've left me no choice. That is...unless you have something you'd like to say."

He leaned forward, resting his weight on the bat, smiling maliciously at the terrified boy.

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Yes?" Art asked.

"My...my jacket," he was finally able to say.

"Damn it. I didn't ask if you had any last requests." He straightened himself and raised the bat high into the air. "You really are too stupid to live," he said shaking his head.

"No...please." Ryan raised his arms above his head. "You don't understand. There's something I need to show you. I need my jacket...please."

His voice was thick with desperation.

Art lowered the bat and gave Ryan a hard look.

"For your sake, you better not be wasting my time," he warned before going to get the jacket.

"Here." He threw it at Ryan. "This better be good. I ain't going to give you a second chance."

Ryan searched the jacket, hoping that it hadn't been lost when Art had torn the jacket off him during their chase through the streets. He almost cried with relief when he found what he was looking for.

"I found it." Ryan held out a shaking hand.

"A keychain?!? You think a damn keychain is going to save your miserable hide?"

"It's not a keychain. It's the alarm to the house. I swiped it from their son. All we have to do is press one button and the alarms won't go off. We'll be in the house with no problems."

Art snatched it from his hand.

"You know, if you had given this to me on Monday, I would have been pretty impressed. But not now. I've had time to think things over. And this..." he spun the keychain in circles around his index finger, "just ain't enough. You should have pocketed this little gadget before noon on Saturday. What'd you do the rest of the time, sit on your worthless ass, eating Bon Bons and watching t.v? Nope, I'm afraid I'm going to need more, unless of course, you want to become rat chow."

"I can get us past the guards," Ryan said quickly.

Art looked slightly interested.

"How?"

"Seth, their kid, he's kind of a loner. The other kids pick on him." Ryan looked down, ashamed for talking about Seth that way. "He thinks...I mean, I let him think..." Ryan choked on the words, "that we were friends. He's going to put my name down on a pass list."

"He thinks you're friends?" Art snorted. "He must be a bigger loser than you. No wonder you two got along."

Ryan ignored Art's last comment.

"I can get us past the gate, the guards and into the house. That's pretty good, right?"

Ryan hated the way his voice cracked. He was pathetic.

"It's not bad." Art tilted his head to the side. "But it's not great either. I think you might have played your ace a little too soon. I get that I need you to get past the guard. So I can't kill you...yet. But that doesn't mean me and Old Lucky here," he said as he tapped the barrel of the bat into the palm of his hand, "can't break your arm, or maybe your leg. We just can't decide which would be more fun. I guess we'll just have to do both." He started to raise the bat again, but stopped. "I might reconsider... _if _you could tell me when exactly it would be a good time to use this new-found information."

Ryan stared at the bat.

"Friday night," he offered. He only prayed that somewhere between the pain and fever, he hadn't lost a day. "They've got some charity function. They'll be gone all night. We'll have the place to ourselves for hours."

"Tomorrow night, huh? That doesn't leave us a lot of time, but at least we're getting somewhere." Art smiled down at Ryan for just a second, before his features turned hard once more. "Tell me about the house."

The thoughts and feelings associated with their home returned. It was foolish and pointless to refuse, he knew that. He had already betrayed the Cohens. Withholding this last bit of information from Art would make no difference. But it was the only thing he had left. If he could hold out, if he could keep this one piece of the Cohens from Art he would have done something. The last few days would not have been completely in vain. He found himself shaking his head no.

"I sure as hell wish I knew what they did to you, boy. I never thought I'd see the day that you would defy me so blatantly. I've had it, and I won't put up with it any longer." Art was breathing hard now, nostrils flaring with anger. "Everything you've just told me would have gotten you off the hook four, maybe even three days ago, but not now. Do you think I've enjoyed these past few days? I haven't. I've had to come in here time and time again and each time you've refused to do what you're told. My arms are sore, my knuckles are raw, and that infernal coughing and hacking of yours is keeping me awake at night. I'm sick to death of all this shit." Art jabbed the end of the bat into Ryan's chest and held it there. "I will not tolerate you disrespecting me anymore. No more games. No more prying information out of you. I'm tired and I'm this close," he held his thumb and index finger a fraction of a centimeter apart, "to killing you right here and now. If I have to, I'll prop your lifeless body against the truck's door to get past the guards. And don't think I won't do it, because I just don't give a shit anymore. Or..." he relieved some of the pressure off Ryan's chest, "you can start talking. The choice is yours. You've got five seconds."

Ryan talked.

He told Art everything he remembered, down to the smallest detail. Ryan described each room and where it was located in the house. He told about the furniture, the pictures on the walls, the electronics, the silverware, anything he could think of that could be sold or pawned. If Art had wanted to know, Ryan would have told him the number of light bulbs in each room. With each word he spoke, Ryan's hatred of himself grew.

Finally, he could think of no more.

"That's it. That's everything. I swear it." His voice was just above a whisper.

He put his head down, resting it on his knees, fearing that it still wouldn't be enough. He waited, not daring to move or even breathe. He waited for what seemed an eternity. The only sound in the room came from Art, bouncing the end of the bat on the floor over and over again.

Finally, the noise stopped, and was replaced by Art's footsteps and the closing of the door.

After a few minutes, Ryan heard the door open and felt a warm paper sack hit him in the shins.

"You don't deserve to eat, but you'll need your strength for tomorrow night."

The door shut, leaving Ryan alone once again.

Ryan's stomach rumbled and growled when the aroma of burgers, fries, and grease hit his senses. But he didn't move. He remained huddled in the corner...cursing his smallness, his weakness, and the day he was born.

tbc

**Chapter Summary**: Ryan decides it's in everyone's best interest if he runs away, but Art has been watching him, and is waiting for him. He tells Ryan that he taking him to an abandoned store building in Long Beach to hide out until the time is right to rob the Cohens. On the way there, Ryan attempts to get away, but Art quickly catches him. Once at the hide-out, Art demands that Ryan tell him everything he's learned while staying with the Cohens. Ryan refuses. Art is furious and does his worst. Ryan fights the good fight, but after three and a half days of constant abuse, Ryan can take no more. When Art threatens to beat him to death with a baseball bat, he tells him everything.


	16. Chapter 16

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: This chapter is extremely tame. You do have to put up with Caleb for one short scene, but at least he's not Art.

**Beta: **loracj2. I usually ask her to look over each chapter twice, but I'm so sick of this one hanging over my head, I went ahead and posted it. I claim all punctuation errors as all mine.

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey

**Note: **I believe I might have said that I wouldn't actually have Caleb appear in this story. Well, you know what a pompous ass he can be. He simply refused to be put on the back burner and managed to bully his way right into this chapter. However, as opposed to canon's version of Kirsten, I promise that I won't let him be mean to Ryan (who doesn't even appear in this chapter).

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Sixteen**

Kirsten sat at her desk, staring straight ahead. A proposal that desperately needed her attention lay strewn, untouched, in front of her. It had been four days since Ryan's disappearance and thoughts of the boy rarely left her mind.

It was her fault he had run away.

If only she hadn't been so cautious. Ryan would be home right now. Instead, he was God only knew where, with a monster. She dropped her head into her hands. Her heart ached at the thought of what he must be going through.

For the lifer of her, she couldn't remember why she had been so reluctant to let Ryan live with them. At the time, she'd had her reasons...good, solid, logical reasons. They'd only known him for a few days. It was too soon to make such a life changing decision. She needed more time.

Time.

If she could turn back the hands of time, she would do it all differently. She'd trust her instincts, throw caution to the wind, and follow her heart, not her mind.

Just like Sandy.

He blamed her.

He never said it. Never so much as even implied it, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes...the disappointment.

Ryan might have trusted her more, but it was Sandy who had come through for him. From the beginning, he hadn't cared about Ryan's background or his record. He'd only cared about him. Sandy had wanted to offer Ryan more than just a place to stay. He'd wanted to give Ryan a home.

And what had she done? She had taken the opportunity to open her heart and her home to a child who needed them and thrown it away. She had made the biggest mistake of her life, and she vowed if given a second chance, she would make it right.

"Kiki."

Her father's voice startled her back to reality.

"Have you looked at the proposal yet?"

"Proposal?" she asked, her mind still not on work.

He frowned.

"Yes, Kirsten, the proposal I gave to you last night. The same one you promised me you would look at first thing this morning. And it's now," he checked his watch, "three o'clock in the afternoon."

"Yes, of course." She started shuffling the papers in front of her. "I just need a few more minutes."

Caleb's frown deepened.

"You're still not thinking about that juvenile delinquent, are you?"

"His name is Ryan and he's not a delinquent, Dad."

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd told me he'd stolen a car and that Sandy had been assigned as his lawyer. I assumed that was how this whole mess with the little thief got started."

Kirsten rubbed her forehead. Talking to her father about Ryan always gave her a headache. "He _did_ steal a car, Dad, but that doesn't mean he's a thief."

"Really," Caleb replied, his voice condescending. "Then what does it mean?"

"It means that there is a boy out there who needed . . . no, who needs our protection."

"Humph," he snorted in disgust.

"As for the mess you talk about," Kirsten continued. " The only mess is the one I created by not being willing to help a scared kid."

"How can you say that, Kirsten? You did everything imaginable to help that boy."

"It wasn't enough."

"Enough? What else were you to do? He needed a place to stay for the weekend and you let him into your home. He was hungry and in need of decent attire and you fed and clothed him. He was injured and you tried to get him to seek medical attention. You did all of that, when instead you should have just handed the boy over to the proper authorities. I dare say you gave him a damn sight more than he ever deserved."

"Every child deserves to be cared for, to feel safe and protected."

"Be that as it may, that boy was still not your responsibility."

"Yes, he was, Dad. I can't explain it to you, but I can't shake the feeling we let him down."

"You're being ridiculous. You extended him every ounce of courtesy, including offering to let him live with you for an indefinite amount of time, until... How did you put it? A suitable and proper home opened up. From everything you told me, anywhere would have been a considerable improvement over his previous situation. And might I add, that you did all of that without my permission or at the very least consulting me."

"There wasn't time, Dad. Besides, it didn't concern you."

"Kiki, have you forgotten that I'm the one who built and paid for the house that you and your family live in? Everything that goes on in there concerns me."

"Not everything, Dad," Kirsten said with a rueful smile.

He gave her a stern look.

"Don't be crass, Kiki. It's not becoming of you."

"I'm sorry, but you've got to realize that not everything in my life or my family's directly relates to you. You didn't even meet Ryan. You can't possibly understand what we're all going through since Ryan was kidnapped."

"You can't be sure of that. You said yourself that he crawled out a window. For all you know, he arranged for his stepfather to meet him after he was through taking advantage of you. I hope you had the good sense to count the good silver after he left."

"Honestly, Dad." Kirsten hadn't thought the comment funny when Seth said it a week ago, and it certainly wasn't funny now. "His stepfather is a cruel monster. I refuse to believe that Ryan went with him willingly. I don't understand how can you be so cold-hearted?"

"And I don't understand how you can be so gullible." He spoke to her with a tone of complete exasperation. It was the same one he had used when she was a small child and had caught her playing with the maid's daughter. Her father had been furious. He sternly warned each girl that they needed to remember their place in the household. Later that evening, Caleb reprimanded her, saying that she shouldn't lower herself like that. He had even went so far as to say the other girl was only being nice because Kirsten had expensive toys.

"You're too much like your mother. You let your emotions cloud your better judgment."

Kirsten almost laughed at the irony. That was exactly what she should have done.

"Did you consider your son in this equation?" Caleb continued. "How bringing a common street urchin into your home could have affected him?"

"Seth is devastated, Dad. He hasn't left the house for fear of missing a call from Ryan."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He pointed an accusing finger at Kirsten. "Don't you find it a bit odd that Seth has been so distraught over this boy leaving? I hope you were cautious enough to supervise their time together. I wouldn't be surprised if that boy turned out to be some kind of hustler as well as a thief."

"Dad!" Kirsten's head snapped up in disbelief at what her father was implying.

"Now, Kiki," he began holding his hand up to stop her from saying anything further. "I love Seth, but you have to admit there is something not quite right about him. He has no interest in money, power, or this company. I could blame Sandy for some of his lofty ideals, but what about his lack of social skills? I've watched him at benefits and parties. To put it mildly, he's obviously uncomfortable around kids his own age. He has no friends, let alone a girlfriend. This Ryan character could have picked up on that and tried to take advantage of Seth's awkwardness."

Kirsten rose from her desk, her anger visible in her stance.

"I refuse to listen to another word of such utter nonsense. Not only are you out of line, Dad, but you have no idea what you're talking about. Seth and Ryan developed a normal friendship, nothing more. There wasn't even the slightest hint of what you're implying." Her voice rose and became more agitated with each sentence.

"Now, Kiki. There's no reason to get your dander up. I was just saying that Seth _is_ . . . "

"A late bloomer. That's all. I'm sure once school starts up again, he'll have found his niche and have plenty of friends _an_d a girlfriend. Give him some time. He's only fifteen."

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just comparing him to myself at that age."

"Things were different for you as a teenager. You had to be strong and independent. You didn't have anyone to help you. You were on your own . . . just like Ryan."

"You're not honestly comparing me to that inland street thug, are you? We have nothing in common. We both may have come from less than humble beginnings, but that is where the similarities begin and end. I managed to pull myself up by my boot straps to become the man I am today. My accomplishments can be credited to hard work and determination, not by committing petty crimes."

"How can you stand there and spout such sanctimonious garbage? You have been involved in more than your fair share of shady deals."

"I have never stooped so low as to be a common thief."

Kirsten was almost shaking from fury.

"Dad, I've heard the rumors. Blackmail. Extortion. Bribes. You're so right, those are much more acceptable crimes than stealing a car." Even Caleb couldn't miss the sarcasm in her voice.

"Be that as it may, you need to realize that the boy's lot in life was cast long before he spent the weekend in your pool house. With or without you and your husband's intervention, he was and still is destined to end up laying face down in a gutter somewhere. With his background, it's inevitable. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry that you're so callous and unfeeling that not even an ounce of compassion can penetrate your cold heart."

She grabbed her purse and jacket and walked out from behind her desk.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm taking the afternoon off."

"You can't do that. I won't allow it. There's work to be done. I refuse to grant you any personal time."

"Fine. Then consider it a sick day. It's the truth. Listening to you for the past fifteen minutes has made me ill."

She stormed past her father and out the door without giving him time to respond.

ocococococococococococococococ

Sandy sat at his desk, the mirror image of Kirsten before her fight with Caleb. Files were accumulating by the hour, but he couldn't bring himself to open even one of them.

He did only what he had to do this past week, and nothing more. He chose cases that required no thought or effort. They were all cut and dry, so no trials would be necessary. He pled the cases down as much as he could an moved on to the next.

His coworkers noticed and commented on his lack of enthusiasm.

"Sandy Cohen is the hero of the downtrodden youth of California," they teased. "Where has his trademark fire gone?"

Right out his bathroom window, along a fifteen-year-old kid that haunted his every thought.

Sandy looked at the files on his desk. He was a fraud. He couldn't help these kids. Sure, he talked a good game and kept them out of Juvie as best he could. But when it really mattered, when he could have really made a difference, he had failed.

It was his fault Ryan had run away.

How could he have been so full of himself? He was so positive that he was going to be Ryan's savior that he hadn't stop to think things through. He remembered all the times he had managed to frighten or intimidate Ryan over the weekend. It didn't really matter that every time had been an accident. It only mattered that he hadn't bothered learning from his mistakes.

He had known all about Ryan's history with male authority figures. He knew how Art treated and manipulated him. And yet, none of that stopped him from pushing Ryan too hard. The only reason Ryan even considered testifying against Art was because he had bullied and guilted him into it. He had wanted and expected Ryan to trust him, but in the end, he had tried to use him . . . just like Art.

Ryan was a smart kid, who had been through more than anyone should ever have to experience. With his past, he probably figured that once Sandy was through with him and the trial, he would abandon him like countless others had done. Sandy had done nothing to make him think otherwise.

The promises to stay with them as long as needed, to keep in touch; they must have sounded like nothing more than empty words to a kid like Ryan.

Sandy should have been more cautious, more levelheaded. He should have been more like Kirsten.

He sensed that Ryan felt more at ease with her, but he had still taken control of almost every situation. The scene with Ryan huddled on the kitchen floor didn't count. He had only stepped back because Kirsten demanded it. And, truthfully, he had been slightly resentful. After all, he was the one who had brought Ryan home. He was the one with all the experience dealing with troubled kids. How could someone like Kirsten, with her wealthy background, relate better to Ryan?

But she did. It was no different Monday morning. He should have waited for her to join them in the bedroom before starting to talk to Ryan. How long would she have been . . . five, ten minutes? If he had the slightest amount of patience, the whole conversation could have gone differently. At the time, he had justified his decision by believing that he was acting out of concern for Ryan, that making that poor nervous kid wait any longer was cruel, but Sandy knew the truth. Ryan hadn't been the only one anxious to start the conversation. And maybe, just a little bit, Sandy had wanted to the opportunity to prove that he, and he alone, was the one who could finally get this kid to open up and trust someone else.

It didn't matter that he'd had the good sense to make sure Kirsten had stayed with them during the second attempt in the pool house. It was too late by then.

Thoughts of the pool house only served to bring up more regrets. Sandy couldn't believe the way he had spoken to Ryan Sunday night. Was it any wonder Ryan didn't want to stay with them? Sandy had made the pool house sound like some sort of glass prison, where his every move would be watched. He might as well have threatened to chain the kid to the furniture.

He had encouraged Ryan to talk all weekend, but not once had he bothered listening to what Ryan didn't say; that he was confused and scared and desperately needed help, but didn't know how to ask for it.

Sandy sighed and pounded his fist on the desk. What he wouldn't give for a chance to do it all over again.

For the third time in as many hours, Sandy pulled out his cell phone to check for messages or missed calls. Even as he flipped the phone open, he knew it was pointless. There was no chance that he would have missed the phone ringing. Since replacing the broken one Monday afternoon, he had never once turned it off.

After the computerized voice told him that he had no messages, Sandy tried to squelch the surge of guilt he was experiencing as he dialed Dave McKinney's number. He was making a pest of himself and he knew it, but at the same time he didn't care. After alerting the police of Ryan's kidnapping the next phone call he had made had been to the private investigator. As a favor to Sandy, Dave had made Ryan top priority.

Sandy knew Dave would call if he found anything new, but he still couldn't stop himself from pushing the numbers on the phone. He called him at least four times a day. As expected, the call went directly to voice mail. Like clockwork, Dave would call him every day after work and inform Sandy of what he had done to try and find Ryan that day. However, he had stopped answering his phone sometime Wednesday, after Sandy had called him six times concerning a lead that had gone nowhere.

"Hey, Dave. It's Sandy again. I know you've talked to those buddies of Art's a couple of times already, but I was just thinking, maybe you could sweeten the pot for them. Let them know that I would really make it worth their while if they all of a sudden remembered where Art could have taken Ryan. Maybe you could do the same for some of the people he knew back in Fresno. Money's no object. Thanks again. I'll talk to you later."

He shut the phone and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his watch. It was three-fifteen. He buzzed his secretary and told her he would be leaving for the day. There was no point sitting here and doing nothing. He might as well go home and see how Seth was doing. As the saying went... misery loves company.

ocococococococococococococococ

**GAME OVER!**

The message flashed across the screen and Seth couldn't help but think how the blinking green neon message summarized his very existence.

He leaned over and turned off the television and flopped back on the couch, throwing an arm over his face. One weekend. For one lousy weekend, he'd almost been normal. He'd had someone his own age to hang out with and to talk to. He'd finally had a friend.

Sure, their friendship had some complications. Ryan being shipped off to a group home would have been a bummer, but that wouldn't have lasted forever. Seth was positive that he and his dad would have eventually worn his mom down to the point where she would have agreed to let Ryan come live with them permanently. _That _would have been awesome.

And what had he done? He'd screwed it up. Staring at the spare game controller, he couldn't fight back the guilt he felt.

It was all his fault Ryan had run away.

When Ryan had needed a friend, he'd been selfish, needy, and completely inconsiderate to Ryan's feelings. He was no different than the Newpsies-in-training that he mocked at school. Excluding Summer of course. She was different. He meant girls more like that bleached-blonde airhead she was always hanging out with.

Then it hit him and hit him hard. He leaned over burying his face into a cushion and pounded the cushioned armrest of the couch. He realized with complete and utter disgust that he had somehow managed to turn himself into Holly Fisher with a Jewfro. How could he have sunk so low?

Seth rolled over , propping his feet over the back of the couch, and wondered if his parents knew how big a hypocrite he really was. Seth knew they blamed him for Ryan running away. They had never actually said it, but how could they not? After all, when they left the room, Ryan was fine. Okay, fine was probably pushing it, but after five minutes alone with him, Ryan resorted to jumping out a window. He had to hand to it to them. His parents were obviously disappointed in him, but they never said a word. Of course, that would have meant actually speaking to each other, something they rarely did anymore.

He thought more about his parents and how he should have tried to be more like them, a thought that normally would have sent shivers of revulsion running down his spine.

Maybe he should have been more like his mom.

_She_ wouldn't have felt the need to incessantly talk, and pester Ryan with endless questions. Maybe Ryan ran away to get some peace and quiet.

But it wasn't as if he hadn't _tried_ to be quiet, because he had. He'd tried really, really hard...well, at least for him. He just didn't have it in him to not talk, unlike like his mom. Seth knew she could go for hours without saying a word. He didn't know how she did it. It

simply wasn't natural. He would explode if he was quiet for that long. He wondered if all these years of living with him and his dad had anything to do with it.

However, there was something to be said for knowing when to shut up and listen. His mom was really good at that. Countless times when he was growing up, she had managed to get him to dig his own grave by letting him ramble on until he eventually confessed to whatever crime he had committed. And then there were all the times he just needed to vent. He didn't talk to his mom as much as he used to when he was younger. But he remembered all the times in elementary and middle school when he would come home upset because of being bullied, teased, or worse...ignored. She would sit at the kitchen table and just listen to him. There were times she barely said a word, but somehow she always made him feel better.

He shook his head in frustration. Who was he kidding?

He should have been more like his dad.

After all, he was his father's son. For the two of them, talking was just the same as breathing, except that his dad always seemed to know the right thing to say. He never seemed to put his foot in his mouth, except of course when it came to talking to Mom about his grandpa. But Seth suspected his dad did that on purpose.

His father would have never rambled on about prisons, watchdogs and babysitters. Seth cringed, remembering the expression on his father's face when he questioned him about what he said to Ryan while they were out of the room.

"If you could just give me a second chance," he vowed to Jesus and Moses, "I swear I won't make the same mistakes again."

ocococococococococococococococ

Sandy stopped and waited for Kirsten on the front steps when he saw her car pull up the driveway.

"You're home early," he observed.

"I could say the same for you."

"I couldn't concentrate."

"Neither could I."

"Ryan?" Sandy asked even though he already knew the answer.

"What else? I don't suppose you heard..."

"Not a word. I'm sure Dave will call with an update later this afternoon."

He held out his arm in front of him and they both started walking toward the front door.

She stopped, her hand resting on the knob and turned towards him. "Do you think he found anything out today?"

"Honestly?" he asked.

"No." She sighed and closed her eyes. "Yes."

"No, honey, I don't think he found a damn thing, and I've got to admit, I'm beginning to lose hope."

"Me too." She reached out and grasped his forearm. "What are we going to do? I'm not working, you're not working and our son hasn't left the house in days. We can't go on like this."

He pulled her close and for a moment she let herself be lulled by the warmth of his embrace.

He stroked her hair and tried to comfort her. "It's going to be okay, honey."

"You can't be sure of that." Her voice was thick with emotion.

"It's not even been a week yet," Sandy reminded her. "We can't give up hope yet. Come Monday morning we'll try something else."

"Like what? We can't do anything else."

"Yes, we can, baby. I don't know what we're going to do or how we're going to do it , but I swear to you, we are going to find that boy."

She looked up at him. "I love you."

"Good," he said while wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Because I love you too." He turned and opened the door for her. "Come on, for now, let's just try and concentrate on making through the weekend."

ocococococococococococococococ

When Seth looked up and saw both of his parents home early, he leapt off the couch and ran towards them. He stopped short the second he saw their faces.

"When you both came home early, I thought that maybe..."

"I'm sorry, son." Sandy put his hand on Seth's shoulder. "We should have realized what it must have looked like. I'm afraid it was just a case of neither one of us being in the mood to work."

"Speaking of working," Seth began, "what about that detective of yours? What's he been doing all of this time? I hear you on the phone with him. He hasn't done squat to help us find Ryan."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Seth's voice began to rise. "Then where's Ryan right now? Can you tell me if he's still even in this state?"

"Seth..."

"No, Dad, you can't. What kind of bozo did you hire anyway?"

"We're doing everything we can to find Ryan." Kirsten reached out to him, but he backed away.

"Don't lie to me. Do you even care that he's probably getting the crap beat out of him by his stepfather?"

"Of course we care."

"Then do something!" Seth was almost screaming at his parents.

"Just what do you expect me to do, Seth?" His father's voice matching his. "We spent all day Monday driving around looking for traces of him and Art. Your mother and I hired the best detective money could buy."

"Well, isn't that just the Newport way? When there's a problem just throw money at it."

"That's enough, both of you," Kirsten demanded stepping between her husband and son. "This isn't helping anything. We have a long night ahead of us and we don't need to be at each others' throats."

"What makes this night any different than the last four?" Seth asked suspiciously.

"Sweetie, it's Casino Night."

"I'm not going." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"We have to go. I'm one of the main organizers."

"Fine." He flopped down on the couch. "You and Dad go. I'm staying here."

"Seth," Sandy warned, but Seth ignored him.

"Forget it. You can't possibly expect to sit through an entire evening of Newpsies with a big fake smile plastered on my face, do you? I won't do it."

"Please, sweetie?" Kirsten asked her voice tired pleading. "We won't stay long I promise."

Seth had never seen his mom quite like this before. She seemed so worn down. He felt himself weaken.

"How long?"

"Cocktails are at six. We eat at seven. We can leave by ten."

"Nine," he countered.

"Deal." Both Sandy and Kirsten said, smiling down at their son.

"However, I want it on the record that I'm going under protest."

"We understand. Thank you for joining us."

"Well," Seth said turning back on the t.v. "It's only for three hours. I doubt anything will happen in that length of time."

tbc

**Author's note**: Sorry it took so long for this chapter to be posted. I know this probably wasn't what you wanted. But as you can probably tell, this story is beginning to wind down. There should only be two, possibly three chapters left. I will try my best to keep the time between posts down to weeks instead of months. Thanks for your patience. And


	17. Chapter 17

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: No warnings

**Beta: **loracj2. Much thanks to her as always. She had a very good and valid suggestion that could have made this a better chapter. However, I have my limitations and I just couldn't make it work. Perhaps, if I ever got any sleep...but I digress. Anyway, through no fault of her own, you are stuck with my inferior version of the chapter. I did a LOT of tinkering after she sent it back. I should have had her take another look, but like the last chapter I'm sick of this one, too. So all grammatical errors are mine and mine alone.

**Special Thank You:** I need to give special thanks and hugs to willwork4dean, and especially fredsmith518. Without them the last couple of paragraphs from Ryan's point of view would have just plain stunk.

More hugs and thanks to themusrevenge. She read through this for me and petted my ego. Without her support, I would have deleted this whole chapter and started anew.

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In **The Pilot**, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey

**Twist of Fate: Chapter 17**

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four flashes of the hotel vacancy sign across the street.

Ryan had managed to scrape away a large portion of the black paint that covered the window. His nails were now ragged and filthy and his fingers raw, but it didn't matter. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel much of anything any more...or at least he tried not to.

As the blinking message filled the room with a sickly neon glow, Ryan gazed out the window with glassy unfocused eyes. He counted to pass the time and fill the long hours. He counted so he wouldn't have to think about his fever or how every movement he made caused his joints to cry out in pain. He counted so he wouldn't have to think. He counted to forget.

Only it didn't work.

No matter how many times the light flashed. No matter how high he counted. He couldn't forget his betrayal of the Cohens.

But he still tried.

So he continued to stare out the window and count.

From his self-made rat-hole, Ryan had watched the sun set, rise and now . . . set once again. During all that time, he had neither seen nor heard from Art.

Slowly, painfully, he turned his head toward the door and away from the light. He tried to remember if he'd heard the soft click of the lock after Art had so swiftly exited the room the previous day.

He could recall no such sound.

For the briefest of moments, he considered the idea of simply walking out the door.

He could run. He could hide. He could finally be free. Or . . . more likely . . . he could be caught. He could be punished. He could be killed.

Ryan closed his eyes and dropped his head

What was the point? Art would come for him. He would find him. He always did. Today would be no different.

Nothing in his whole life had been easy. Why would it? He didn't deserve even the slightest bit of happiness.

A sudden noise outside the door brought him back into the present. He started. Listening carefully, he could discern a dull thick tread that seemed to coincide and merge with the flashing of the light.

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four footsteps came closer to the door and each heavy thud echoed the pounding of his heart.

cocococococococococococococococo

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four quick thumps from the corner of the Country Club's banquet hall.

Seth counted each time his knee bounced and collided with the underside of the table.

He counted because he was bored and had nothing better to do. This was the longest evening of his life and he just wanted to go home.

With an exaggerated roll of his head, he surveyed the other occupants of the table...correction, the kiddy table. A place to which he had been banished to long ago and had never managed to escape.

Staring back at him was a row of preteen boys, each at least two or three years younger than he. To make matters worse, they were all water-polo-playing-jerks-in-the-making. And _they_ had the blatant nerve to be looking at_ him_ with a mixture aversion and disgust.

Adding insult to injury, one boy leaned over and stole his dessert. With false bravado, Seth scoffed at him and told the boy to go ahead and take it, he didn't care. Adding that "the ladies" aren't impressed by fat kids in a Speedo.

If only Ryan were here. He'd have someone to talk to and confide in.

If Ryan were here he'd graduate from the company of evil middle schoolers. They could sit together at an actual table with other teenagers. Teenagers who could drive, or at least ones who had their permission slips. Seth thought of how he would mock the jocks while

Ryan sat beside him quietly laughing. Seth wouldn't be afraid of them anymore. With Ryan around, no one would dare tease him or pee in his shoes. At long last, he would have an ally against the pod people of Newport.

Yes, if Ryan were here things would be different. Things would be better.

But Ryan wasn't here.

He was alone.

So he counted some more.

As long as he was counting he could ignore the intense loneliness he felt. When his knee became sore, he bounced the other. When that one began to hurt, he counted the number of times he could tap his fingers in a single minute. Then he started counting the minutes, the seconds, the milliseconds until the blessed moment arrived; the moment when he could finally leave this prison disguised as a banquet hall, disguised as a Casino.

A noise floated across the room. It filled his ears with it's sweet sound and for a moment it rescued him from his private hell.

It was a soft twinkling laughter. He knew exactly who it belonged to before he ever turned around. Summer was near. Quickly, so that no one would see him, he dared to take a forbidden longing glance over his shoulder. She was in the midst of a group of Harbor's most elite young men.

The light from the spinning disco ball above shone around her, casting her in an angelic glow. His breath caught in his throat. Leaning her head back so that her long dark tresses danced upon her bare shoulders, she laughed once again. She reached out and playfully swatted the arm of one of her many admirers. The boy gave a wide, bright toothy grin, and looked triumphantly at his cohorts. Too preoccupied with how she so amply filled out the low neckline of her dress, none returned the smile.

Seth gazed at her for a just a second longer. Finally, knowing the fruitlessness of it all he sighed and dropped his head to rest on the table. He had no friend. He had no girlfriend. He was alone and he was pathetic.

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four bangs of his head on the top of the table, each whack sending a sharp pain through his skull, echoing the stinging ache of loneliness in his heart.

ococococococococococococococococo

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four twists of Kirsten's thumb and her platinum wedding band circled her finger.

For the past two hours, Kirsten had surrounded herself with the most Newpsiest of Newpsies, making the smallest of small talk.

She had pretended to listen as those around her prattled on about who was sleeping with whom, and who had just been nipped and tucked. But in reality she was twisting and counting.

She counted to help her get through yet another charity event that consisted mainly of malicious gossip. She counted to take her mind off her ever intensifying headache. She counted to forget the reason why she had the headache in the first place.

She glanced down at her finger and counted the motion once again.

Twisting her ring had been a nervous habit she had picked up when she had been a young girl attending Harbor, but back then it had been a boy's class ring. She had received it when she was fifteen, almost sixteen. She allowed herself a slight smile at the memory. The boy had been close to her age, only a few months older, and from one of Newport's finest families. They spent their remaining years of high school as Harbor's most perfect couple. Even her father had approved of him.

Her expression soured. Still furious with him, she had successfully avoided her father all evening. It hadn't been a difficult task. It was one of the reasons she now stood in the midst of the Newpsies. He hated the women almost as much as he hated cilantro and colored lights.

Pushing thoughts of her father from her mind, Kirsten allowed herself to wander back in time once again.

It was the boy who had first noticed her new mannerism. They had been studying for mid-terms and he caught her counting softy to herself while the ring snaked her finger. She hadn't even realized she had been doing it until he had pointed it out. He had teased her only that one time. It embarrassed her. She supposed it was because she knew her father would disapprove, thinking it a sign of weakness.

Her father. What was it about him that managed to reduce her back to that same fifteen year old girl? She shook her head as if it were possible to physically remove him from her subconscious.

She returned to reminiscing. The boy had dark blond shaggy hair. As far as high school boys went, he wasn't very tall. Standing just shy of two inches over her. She stopped. She could have been describing...her stomach knotted...Ryan.

Ryan.

Where was he? Was he all right? Would they ever find him? She knew the answer to the second and feared the third. A week was a long time to be missing. He could be lost from them forever.

Suddenly, she had to know where Seth was. She needed to see for herself that he was here, close to her. She needed the reassurance that she had managed to keep at least one boy safe this evening. As if by instinct, her eyes were instantly drawn to him. He was alone, sitting at a corner table, rubbing his forehead, looking absolutely miserable.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to attend yet another inane Newport function. She wanted nothing more in this world than to go home.

Home...with her family of three...soon to be four...hopefully.

A questioning voice, laced with annoyance called her name and broke her into her thoughts. Stealing her concentration. She looked up seeing the beautiful faces of her peers.

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four sets of eyes stared at her, each pair perfect without flaw or wrinkles. But looking into them Kirsten could see that they were hollow. That there was something missing, that echoed the emptiness in her heart.

ococococococococococococococococo

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four circular massaging motions, fingers firmly planted in his temple.

Sandy rubbed his forehead once again, hoping to relieve the pain in his head.

It didn't work.

He reached down and picked up his drink from the bar. With a quick turn of his wrist, he stirred the drink, watching as the ice clinked against the side of the glass and mixed with the alcohol making a miniature whirlpool.

He stared into the glass until it stilled. Slowly, he raised it to his lips and drained its contents. With a soft clunk, the glass found a spot on the bar. It was where three previous drinks had also met their final resting place.

Two hours. Four drinks. Not that he was counting.

The bartender motioned to the empty glass, asking him if he'd like another. Sandy gave the man a curt shake of his head. Opening his wallet, he threw the remaining bills on the countertop.

He didn't count them either.

There was no need.

He was rich.

He looked around the room. They were all rich. And it didn't do anyone one damn bit of good. He couldn't keep the bitterness and disdain from his thoughts.

Everyone there was miserable in one way or another and he was no exception.

There had been times throughout his marriage to Kirsten that he felt like a hypocrite. He was so quick to look down upon Newport's elite and insult all that they held dear. But yet he drove a BMW and lived in a McMansion that his wife's father built for them.

He tried to justify his life, by thinking of all the good he did by working at the P.D.'s office. He had told himself that as long as he still worked there, he hadn't sold out. Not really. But his belief had been tested and his opinion had changed this past week after Ryan.

His stomach knotted at the thought of the boy. The chances of finding him were becoming bleaker with each passing day.

He sighed rubbed his forehead once again and searched the room for his family. He had to restrain himself from grabbing them and running for the door. But he had promised Kirsten.

Two hours down, one to go. And he was counting every second.

_One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four_

Four rings of his cell phone, each ring and vibration echoing the racing of his heart.

tbc

**Author's note:** Okay, so a lot of you are probably thinking _What the...?! _It took her almost four months to write _this_! To be honest, this isn't the chapter I had planned on writing. I had planned on a real chapter with dialogue, action, and events that would actually move the plot along. Sorry, didn't happen. I promise these things will take place next chapter. I have it all planned out in my little tiny brain. Until then thank you for your continuing support and patience with this story. And because you all have been so nice to me, I thought that I'd treat this like a real episode of The O.C. Meaning that there should be a teaser at the end.

So imagine if you will...

_Next time on Twist of Fate:_

-Art kicks the door to Ryan's room open. You're looking up at him as if seeing him from Ryan's viewpoint on the floor. The room is darkly lit and Art stands in the open door, filling it's frame with his massive bulk, an ominous light shines around him.

-Ryan driving and old black utility van, seemingly alone. He approaches the gated entrance. The security guard waves him on.

-Sandy bursting through the front door of the house, calling out Ryan's name.

-Police sirens sound in the distance. Cut to a shot of a handgun. An unidentified hand is wrapped around the barrel. It's finger resting on the trigger.

-Fade to black.


	18. Chapter 18

1**Title**: A Twist of Fate

**Ratings/Warning**s: This chapter is rated R. There is a lot of Art with his foul-mouth and violent ways.

**Beta: **loracj2. I completely rewrote the first scene and tinkered quite a bit with the rest of the chapter. I should have sent it back to her, but I didn't. The errors are mine, all mine. She's innocent. I swear.

**Disclaimers: **I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary**: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In **The Pilot**, Kirsten asks Sandy "_What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" _In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

**Special Thanks:** I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude to Themusrevenge. She took a look at this for me as well. And bless her heart, she is doing her darnedest to make me a better writer. I trying, sweetie, I really am. I hope she finds my changes to be improvements.

**Twist of Fate: Chapter Eighteen**

Ryan listened to the footsteps grow louder with a heavy heart. Sighing, he dropped his head in resignation and reached out to grab hold of the nearby windowsill. He then began the slow agonizing process of pulling himself upward.

His body was a mass of painful bruises, and the effort to rise caused beads of sweat to form on his forehead. He could taste their saltiness as began to drip down his face and over his lips.

Hurting more than he could ever remember, he paused for a moment trying to catch his breath. He stood there hunched over, lungs burning with every heave of his chest. It took everything he had just to remain standing.

He wished it was more than it was . . . this simple yet monumental task of standing.

He wished he could fool himself into believing that all of the work, all of the effort it took to do this one small feat was a showing of strength.

But it wasn't.

Ryan new that when Art walked through the door he would be ready to go. He also knew that Art was _not_ a patient man.

So that's all it was.

It was not an act of defiance.

It was not a display of toughness.

It was one less reason to cause Art's anger to surface.

It was one less reason to get hit.

That's it.

That's all.

Nothing more.

No matter how much he wished otherwise.

He waited just a second longer before forcing himself to stand as straight as his aching joints and muscles would allow. He tried to make out the door amidst the darkness. It wasn't easy. His left eye was still badly swollen, but slowly the door came into focus.

He stared at it . . . waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting.

Waiting.

The door remained closed.

He listened carefully, not moving, holding his breath, trying to hear every minute sound.

Nothing.

Maybe he'd been wrong.

Maybe he hadn't actually heard footsteps.

Maybe somewhere between the misty haze of sleep and almost-delirium he had imagined them.

He looked over his shoulder, back to the corner that had been his whole world for days. He could return to it. Lie down, rest, try and gain what little strength he could muster and wait until Art really did come for him.

That would be the easy thing to do.

It was what his body was telling him. That he needed rest. That he was sick. That he was weak.

_Weak._

He grimaced at the word. He hated it and everything that it meant.

He hated it because he _was _weak.

He had let himself be pushed around and bullied his entire life. His father. His mom's countless boyfriends. Art. He'd never stood up to any of them. That is until five days ago. For a brief moment, he felt a smallest bit of pride, before shame and humiliation took over.

He had held out for four days. He had endured it all . . . the cold, the hunger, the pain. But in the end it hadn't mattered. He had broken down and had given Art everything he wanted and then some.

Ryan cringed, remembering the gleam in Art's eyes as he stood over Ryan, holding the small alarm to the Cohens' home in his fat sweaty palm. If only he could have held onto that one little thing. It wouldn't have been much, but it would have been _somethin_g.

He sighed again.

It didn't matter now.

Nothing did.

In a few short hours, he would be robbing the only decent people he had ever known. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Slowly, he began to turn his body to go back to his corner, but the sight of the door caught his eye and he stopped.

Or was there?

His eyes fixed on the door once again. His mind a jumble of thoughts and mixed emotions.

Deep in thought, he began to chew on his lower lip.

It was unlocked. He was sure of that now.

His pulse began to quicken.

Only minutes before, the idea of trying to run had seemed pointless. But now . . .

He could feel the moisture begin to form on his hands. He continued to stare at the door as he nervously wiped the sweat from his palms onto his jeans.

It was a long shot. Art could be anywhere. Down the hall. Outside the building. Was it worth it?

No . . . maybe . . . yes.

His legs felt heavy as he took that first unsteady step closer to the door.

He could do this.

He willed his legs to take another step.

He would have to do more than just escape. Art would still rob the Cohens without him. He would call them. Warn them.

His heart began to pound.

Another step.

He didn't have a plan or even a thought of what he would do after that. He would still have to run. Art would come for him, make him pay for his betrayal.

He stopped. His nerve faltering. Doubt and uncertainty taking over. Wondering once more . . . _Is it worth it?_ _To finally do what is right?_

His thoughts drifted back to the previous weekend and to the people he shared it with.

His confidence rose.

Another step.

His mouth had gone dry.

It was now or never.

Another step.

Inches from the door, arm outstretched, hand shaking, eyes never wavering, almost there, just . . . one . . . more . . . step . . .

BAM!

Art kicked the door open with such vicious force that it sent tremors rippling throughout the room.

Startled, Ryan stumbled, fell to the floor and landed with a thump. Fear gripped him and before he could stop himself, without even thinking, he found himself scurrying backwards into his corner. Looking up he could see the dark shadowy figure of Art looming in the doorway, his large bulking frame illuminated by the light from the other room.

"I'm baaack," Art called out in a singsong voice. "Ya' miss me, boy?"

All pretense of humor was gone as Art strode purposefully across the room and hauled him up by the front of his shirt. Unfortunately for Ryan, his body took that moment to give in to a spasm of coughing.

Art grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall. "Stop that shit now," he ordered.

Ryan did his best as thick meaty fingers dug into his neck cutting off his airway. Art continued his hold until Ryan was sure he could no longer breathe. Reaching up he clutched at the fingers, desperately trying to pry them from his throat.

When Art finally released him, Ryan fell to the floor on his knees. He held his throat and tried to catch his breath through the wheezing and coughing. Art stood looking down at him for just a minute before crouching to the floor and grabbing a fistful of Ryan's hair. He jerked his head up.

"I'm going to tell you this one time and one time only. _This_ is a very important job and I will _not_ put up with any of your crap tonight. Do you understand me?"

Still struggling to breathe, Ryan was unable to answer.

Art clutched his hair tighter and shook his head up and down making Ryan nod yes. "Yes, you do understand. Don't you?" He continued bobbing Ryan's head. "Good. I'm glad." He held Ryan's head so that he was forced to look right at him. "I'd hate to have to have this conversation again. Now let's get moving."

He didn't give Ryan a chance to stand on his own. He immediately pulled the boy up and shoved him in the direction of the door. Ryan lurched forward, stumbling over his own feet and fell to the floor once more.

This time he knew the sound of the heavy footsteps was not imagined.

Frantically, Ryan tried to make it to his feet, but it was too late. Art was beside him, kicking his feet out from underneath him. With little effort he rolled Ryan to his back and placed a heavy steel-toed boot in the center of Ryan's chest, pinning him to the ground.

Ryan stared at the boot, holding his breath, desperately hoping that he would not start coughing again. Art leaned over, applying more pressure to Ryan's chest until he thought he would explode.

"You." Art shook his finger in Ryan's face. "Are _damn_ lucky we're on such a tight schedule tonight." He grabbed Ryan by the arm and pulled him up until they were face to face. Ryan swallowed nervously.

"But don't think I won't remember this later, boy." He spun Ryan around. "Now move your ass." Without letting go of Ryan's arm, he dragged the boy out the door, down the steps to the street below.

ocococococococococococ

Outside, the dimly lit street was all but deserted except for an old black utility van that Ryan had never seen before.

"Get in."

He hesitated, his eyes darting to Art for confirmation. His answer was a sharp blow to the back of the head.

"Yeah, I mean the van. Fuck, but you're dumb as shit. What the hell you think we'd use for this heist, the truck? That'd be real smart, wouldn't it? I'm sure on the way out the guard wouldn't notice the back being loaded down with loot?"

"I'm sorry." His voice sounded rough from coughing and lack of use. "I wasn't thinking."

"You never do. Now move your ass." Art pushed him and this time the curb was the culprit for Ryan's clumsiness. He lurched forward almost falling into the door.

Art grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back onto the sidewalk. He sighed in exaggerated frustration as he opened the door and roughly shoved Ryan inside the van.

He stood there for a moment, staring at Ryan with his hand resting on the open door, and once again, Ryan found himself waiting.

He expected a smack, or at the very least, an insult. But Art did neither. Instead he just stood there and continued to stare, his face blank as if Ryan's existence didn't even merit the effort of an expression.

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could feel Art's eyes boring into him. He ducked his head, not daring to look up, hoping that the silent scrutiny would soon come to an end.

In the distance a sharp squealing of tires followed by the honking of horns could be heard. The noise seemed to shake Art from his trance. Quickly, he turned his head in the direction of the commotion. Then without a word or another glance at Ryan, he slammed the door shut and stomped over to the driver's side of the van.

Habit and instinct made Ryan scoot closer to the door as Art climbed into the truck. The movement did not go unnoticed. Art grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him closer to him so that their faces were only separated by a few inches.

"You're not thinking of pulling that little stunt again are you?" he asked, his breath thick with the smell of fast food and cheap beer.

Ryan blinked stupidly. "No . . . I . . . uhhh . . . " He was sputtering desperately trying to remember what Art was talking about.

"Because I meant what I said on Monday. You try and bail out on me by jumping out the door, and I swear to you I will not hesitate to run your sorry ass down." His eyes narrowed so that they were little more than slits on his face and he pulled Ryan closer. "And I got to tell you boy, with the shape you're in it wouldn't even be much sport. You get my meaning?"

Ryan swallowed nervously. He suddenly found it much more difficult to breathe.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I understand. I won't try and run. I swear."

"You best not," Art said releasing him, then poking him hard in his chest. "Cause I'm going to be watching you." With one last glare Art shifted the van into gear and pulled out into the road.

ocococococococococococococococo

_It's just a job._

_The people . . . they don't matter._

_You don't have a choice._

Three years ago, after his mother died and Art had first started making him steal, Ryan had repeated those words over and over to himself. He had hoped they would help him justify the crimes he committed every day. They hadn't worked at all at first, but slowly over time they began to ease his guilt.

What he really hoped for was to feel nothing. He didn't want to think about what he was doing. He just wanted to get the job done and move onto the next mark. No feelings, no emotions. He wanted to be dead inside.

But just like everything else he had ever wanted in his life, he didn't get that either.

Somewhere along the way he had stopped saying the words. He stopped needing them. But now, sitting besides Art, minutes away from this job he found himself repeating them once again.

_It's just a job._

Only it wasn't. It was so much more than that.

_The people . . . they don't matter._

Lies. They mattered. They mattered more than anything else in his life_. _

_You don't have a choice._

Fearfully, he glanced over at Art. With each bounce of the van he could feel every bruise Art had given him over the past few days. Yes, he would let himself believe those words. So he concentrated on them, saying them over and over again.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Ryan didn't notice Art pulling off to the side of the road until the van ground to a sudden halt. Confused, he looked around. He wasn't sure, but he thought that they were still a few miles from the Cohens' home.

He watched wordlessly, as Art crawled into the back of the van.

"Okay," Art said peering at Ryan through the opening between the two front seats. "It's your turn to drive. Get behind the wheel . . . _without _getting out of the van."

Ryan maneuvered himself over the gear shift and into the driver's seat. No sooner than he had sat down when Art thumped him the left shoulder. "Don't forget the seat belt. We can't risk you getting pulled over for something stupid like that."

To Ryan the click of the seatbelt was the final nail in his coffin. He knew exactly why he was driving and Art was hidden in the darkness of the backseat. For all practical purposes, it would appear that he was acting alone.

The Cohens would hate him.

He hated himself.

After Ryan had safely returned to the road, Art scooted forward in his seat again.

"Listen, brat." Ryan could feel Art's breath on the back of his neck and his skinned crawled. "Here's the deal. This should be a clean job. No screw-ups. No trouble. I want us in and out of there in less than forty-five minutes. I'm shooting for thirty. You will not do anything, and I mean _anything_, to mess that up or slow us down."

Ryan watched in the rearview mirror as Art leaned down and grabbed something from the floor of the backseat. He sat up straighter, trying to see what it was. Art caught his eyes in the mirror and smirked.

"Never you mind what I've got back here. You'll see what it is in a second. Just keep your eyes on the road."

Ryan quickly looked away, gripping the steering wheel tight. He might not know what Art was hiding in the backseat, but he knew whatever it was, it meant trouble for him. He swallowed nervously trying to forget about the knot in his stomach that was growing bigger with each passing mile.

"Now," Art continued, "if by some slim chance something goes wrong and you get your stupid ass caught, you know better than to point your finger at me. Don't you, boy?"

Ryan nodded, not daring to look back.

"Good. Same goes for the guard at the gate. If I think for one minute that you're trying to tip him off . . . "

It was then Art decided to reveal what he had been hiding. He slowly slid the baseball bat he had used to threaten Ryan with the previous day between the two front seats. Ryan's eyes grew wide. His entire body tensed, and he dug his fingers even deeper into the wheel.

Art tapped his leg with the bat. "Well, I don't need to explain what will happen to you, do I, boy?"

"No, sir," Ryan swallowed, trying to fight back the almost uncontrollable urge to throw-up.

"You're learning, boy." Art laughed softly, leaning back. "You're learning."

ocococococococococococococococo

As they approached the gates, Ryan could see the flashing blue and green lights of the guard's television. His mind racing, he wondered what he would do if the guard refused to let them inside. There was no guarantee that Seth actually put his name on the list. His could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Half of him was scared that the guard wouldn't let them in and the other half was scared that he would.

Ryan slowly applied the brakes, their loud squeal piercing the silence of the otherwise peaceful night. As the van came to a shaky halt, Ryan tried his best to avoid looking suspicious. He turned to look at the man, but made sure to keep his face, especially his battered left eye, back in the shadows. He didn't need to answer any more questions than he absolutely had to.

He needn't have bothered. Without even looking at Ryan, the guard gave the van once a quick disdainful glance.

"I don't have any deliveries scheduled for this evening," the guard said curtly, not even bothering to look at the roster hanging by the window.

Ryan could feel Art pushing up against the back of the seat, giving him an unnecessary reminder that he was there.

"I'm not delivering anything."

"You're not?" He looked at Ryan for the first time, his eyes giving him the once over. "This is a gated community, son. We don't just let anyone drive in here. You have to be on the list before I let you enter."

"I'm on it."

"Oh really." The guard's voice was condescending. "Well then young man. Why don't you just tell me your name and the family you're here to visit and I'll just see if you really are on my list?"

Ryan held his breath for a moment before answering. "Ryan, Ryan Atwood. I'm a friend of Seth Cohen."

_Or at least I used to be. _

The man picked up a clipboard and was running a lazy finger down the topmost sheet of paper.

"Oh yes," he tapped at a line halfway down, "here you are."

The guard stared at the paper for a moment and suddenly looked up at Ryan. For a brief moment, Ryan thought he saw something flash across the guard's face. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror, to see if Art noticed as well. He couldn't see Art. The man was crouched down too far in his seat. He returned his attention to the guard, but whatever he had seen, if anything, was gone.

"Go on in." The guard waved his hand toward the now open gates.

Ryan didn't move. He could have sworn there was something different about the man's voice. The man's attitude toward him had changed and his tone and certainly become more friendly. But there was an underlying tension to his words that made them sound forced to Ryan's ears, almost as if he was trying too hard to sound casual.

_Did _the man know something? And if so, what should he do?

He didn't have time to think about it much longer. Art increased the pressure on the back of his seat, causing Ryan to arch his back. "What are you waiting for? Move it," Art hissed quietly.

Ryan dared to take one more quick glance at the guard, but the man was no longer paying attention to him, his eyes glued back to the tv screen. Ryan figured that in his desperation he had been grasping at straws. He hadn't actually seen or heard anything. He sighed in resignation and started up the hill leading to the Cohens' driveway. There was no one to help him. There never had been.

ocococococococococococococococo

They had no sooner pulled into the Cohens' driveway than Art began climbing back into the front seat. Ryan scooted over giving the man more room, but didn't see or hear what Art did after that. He was too busy staring at the front door, completely lost in his thoughts.

"Get out."

Ryan jumped, startled to see Art right outside his door and leaning in the open window.

"Maybe, maybe I should just stay in the van. You know, keep a look out for the family."

Art leaned in farther. "Do I look stupid?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Then why would I let you," Art opened the door and pulled Ryan out of the van, "stay out here where you could try to run away. Or better yet, go tell the guard what I'm up to? That would make me as dumb as you, and we all know that no one else could ever be that much of a dumb-ass." He shoved Ryan toward the front steps. "Now get moving."

They stood in front of the main door, Art's expression almost childlike in its eagerness. He pulled the small keychain- alarm from his front pocket. Ryan flinched at the sight of it, guilt and remorse flooding over him.

Art pointed it at the front door. "This had better work."

The alarm made a soft clicking noise and Art slowly opened the door. When it was obvious no alarm would sound, he flung the door open and walked boldly in.

"Holy shit!" He stood in the Cohens' entryway, his head making a wide circling arch. "I've just hit the fucking mother lode."

His eyes were wide with greed and anticipation. He turned to Ryan, who was still standing just outside the door. "Hurry up and get your ass in here. There's work to be done."

Ryan stood there, not moving. He couldn't make himself step over that line. He was paralyzed by the thoughts of the family that lived inside. If only, he thought. If only he could stay outside. If only he didn't actually have to go in the house that would mean he didn't actually do anything to hurt them. Didn't it?

"You do _not_ want me to have to tell you again to get your ass in here."

Ryan stared at Art and wished for the last time that he could think of something, anything that would help him find a way out of this mess.

"_Boy._" Art's voice was rising, his temper and patience strained to their breaking point.

Ryan dropped his head in apparent defeat and began walking through the door. But just as he lifted his foot another round of coughing caused him to lose his balance and trip over the doorstep and into Art.

"What the fuck?" He pushed Ryan off him, sending him into the doorframe. Ryan let out a small yelp of pain when his back hit the wood.

"What the hell is the matter with you, boy? This is the third time you've almost fallen on your ass tonight. You better get your act together and get it together now. I won't have you fucking this up."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me." His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"Not as sorry as I am for having to put up with you."

"I'll do better. I swear. I...I could go upstairs." Meekly, he pointed toward the steps. "Start with the son's room while you get the stuff down here."

"Wow, you're really full of great ideas tonight." Sarcasm dripped from Art's voice. "I bet you want to leave your little boyfriend a note? I bet you wanna tell him how sorry you are that you stole from him?"

"No, of course not."

Art went on, not listening to Ryan.

"Or maybe while you're up there you'll just "accidentally" pick up the phone and call this lawyer guy who took such _good_ care of you last week. That way you can tip them off and he can call the police. And then poor old Art here will get arrested. You'd like that wouldn't you? Seeing me behind bars after all I've done for you."

"No. I'd never . . . "

"Damn straight you'd never and you won't get the chance either. You're fucking crazy if you think for one damn minute I'm letting you out of my sight. Now move it."

He grabbed Ryan by the arm and dragged him into the living room.

"Sit over there where I can keep an eye on you," he said, shoving Ryan in the direction of the kitchen table. "Don't move a muscle unless I tell you it's okay. I mean it, boy. You don't even blink without me saying so."

Ryan didn't respond. He just dropped his head, staring own at the table and listened while Art began gathering up the Cohens' possessions.

ocococococococococococococococo

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Ryan jumped. He hadn't heard Art walk over to the kitchen table.

"I don't know what you mean," he answered, looking up at Art.

Art slapped him hard across the mouth.

"Don't lie to me boy. I've been watching you."

Ryan tried to swallow the lump that was fast forming in his throat.

"You keep checking the time." Art pointed accusingly to the clock on the wall. "Five times in ten minutes."

"I'm just nervous. I want to get out of here. That's all."

Art leaned down, placing his hands on either side of Ryan, boxing him in. His face was mere inches away from his own. "I know you're lying to me." Ryan watched as a wide trickle of sweat slowly glided down Art's face, to Ryan's lap, landing with a little plop on the clenched fist that was resting there. Ryan squeezed the hand tighter.

Art noticed the move and grabbed Ryan's wrist, pulling his arm to the top of the table.

"You got something hidden in your hand?"

"No . . . no, of course not."

"Open it."

Ryan tried to yank his hand back, but Art was too strong. He pulled his arm forward again, and slammed Ryan's fist down. His knuckles banged against the table top.

"I_ said_, open it."

Not giving Ryan a chance to react, he pried open his hand and in Ryan's grasp he discovered the small keychain.

Art's eyes widened with surprise and he frantically patted the front of his jeans, not quite believing what he saw.

"How did you . . . " His eyes began to narrow and rage took the place of shock on his face. "Back there, by the door, you didn't fall did you? You did that on purpose."

Ryan dared a small smug smile. "You always said I learned from the best."

The humor was lost on Art. He grabbed Ryan by the front of his T-shirt, twisting it in a knot so that it choked him. He hoisted him out of the chair and held him so that he was barely standing on his own, his toes barely touching the floor.

Ryan felt like he was being hanged. He grabbed onto Art's forearm with both hands, hoping that it would relieve the choking sensation. Art let go of him, but immediately stepped closer to him so that Ryan would be trapped between him and the table.

Ryan put one hand to his throat and the other he used for support as he leaned back against the table. Even though Art was no longer holding onto to his neck, it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. The air felt thick and suffocating to him.

It seemed like hours before Art spoke.

"You have no idea what you have done."

The words came out slow and deliberate and completely devoid of all emotion. Ryan stood there not able to move, frozen in dread.

He would be dead by morning.

tbc


End file.
